


Persephone Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

by EdytheCullen



Series: Persephone Potter's Magical World [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Manipulation, Ravenclaw, Siphoners (Vampire Diaries), Trans Character, Yes Diana is bisexual, ballet is going to kill persephone, someone please put dumbledore in jail please god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 88,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22633654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdytheCullen/pseuds/EdytheCullen
Summary: Persephone Potter is back for a new year at Hogwarts and new threats are back for Persephone Potter. Persephone is having a hard time navigating through friend drama, boy troubles and balancing her new schedule while the looming Heir of Slytherin threatens the students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Follow our lively girl through another year as she discovers new magic, new friends and new enemies...or is it just an old enemy with a different face?Let me know any comments or ideas you have for this story in my email!edythecullen.ao3@gmail.com
Relationships: Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Cho Chang, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter/Original Male Character(s), Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger, Susan Bones/Original Character
Series: Persephone Potter's Magical World [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628200
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	1. Half of an Amazing Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to my lovely and patient readers! I am happy to be back with my favorite girl! Now, forewarning, some themes and ideas are not entirely mine and will be given credit where credit is due. Please, sit and enjoy! Leave a comment!

Persephone Potter had never imagined water could be so blue. Persephone Potter’s imagination couldn’t come up with all the things that had occurred this summer, but the water in the Mediterranean being so blue was the strangest thing that had occurred.

Put in chronological order, the first strange thing that had happened was that her mother’s friend from Hogwarts was her neighbor under the name of Johnson. She explained it was the most generic, normal sounding name she and her husband could come up with. Her husband, Reginald Cuttermole, was an employee of the Ministry of Magic in the Magical Maintenance Department, a department that took care of maintaining the upkeep of the ministry. He told her that people would tell her that it was an unimportant division but really, they are the backbone of the Ministry.

After the utter shock of the American family being wizards, they had somehow talked the Dursleys in to drive her to a little restaurant as a celebration of the kids being back.

“I assume you have a lot of questions,” Mary said w hen Diana finished her first ramble of her classes. Her father made her stop talking to start her meal, which probably got cold. Persephone listened, eating her linguini silently. She shrugged.

“I’m…surprised.” She said after swallowing. The meals at Hogwarts were scheduled by the Head Girl and Boy and they hadn’t put too many pasta days down. She’d forgotten how good pasta was. “Also kind of mad Ben didn’t tell me.” She stared pointedly at him from across the table as he read the side menu awkwardly. She kicked him and he looked up at her, startled.

“Sorry what?” He asked. She rolled her eyes.

Diana snorted, “Not overly indulgent? I am surprised,” She smirked when Ben scolded her and then she winked at Persephone, who bit back her smile, nearly choking on her pasta. “Anyway, you’re coming to Italy with us, yes?”

“I’m…really grateful for the offer, but I don’t think my aunt and uncle would approve…besides, I think they need me at home for the summer,” She said, looking down at her plate, feeling that terrible feeling she always had when she was a child and wasn’t allowed doing things because of her uncle and aunt’s rules.

Mary placed a hand by her plate, “Well, I don’t believe you aunt and uncle would disapprove, not after I had a chat with them,” She smiled, but there was something sinister about her words. “And reminded them how very educational it could be for you…” Persephone thought she probably definitely did not use those words, “And after some consideration, they’ve decided to allow you to come.”

Persephone’s mouth dropped open, “But…they won’t possible pay and I don’t want you to either!”

“Well, of course they won’t be, and neither will you,” She smiled almost knowingly. “Persephone, darling, are you aware of a weekly to monthly allowance your aunt and uncle receive for taking…care of you throughout your life?” Persephone shook her head. “Well, they receive a certain amount of money each week to be able to foster you. The day you left for Hogwarts, I made it a point to remind them that they will not be fostering you for nine months of the year and…convinced them to allow me to set up a bank account for you to put the money they receive for you.”

Persephone stared blankly at her, wondering what she was trying to say…Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were paid to keep her? Well this made a lot more sense.

“How…how much do they get paid?” She asked.

Ben was the one to answer, “Four-fifty a week,” He said absently. She moved her stare to Ben . He met her stare and looked away.

“The money is sitting under your name, and mine as a safety, and I’ve been making sure they put the money every week into the bank over the forty-two weeks you’ve been gone from under their roof.” Mary said. She was so shocked at this news that she wasn’t able to calculate how much money was in a bank with her name on it—she was more shocked that she was worth four hundred and fifty a week.

She must have been staring at her pasta for a long moment because Diana bumped her shoulder, “Do you want your bread?”

It was impossible to move on from such a subject and yet, they did. Diana was retelling a story about Hogwarts, which led to Persephone asking what house she’d been in and Diana telling her she was a Slytherin. That led to a long series of questions from Persephone to describe the common room in great detail. Despite seeing the common room, she was still fascinated.

That was the first unbelievable thing that had happened that summer. It led to Mary walking her through the workings of a bank, which were much more complex than the wizarding banks. She walked her through how to withdraw, and how to make cards and handle such things. She had to explain several different times but Persephone thought she got it by the fourth time.

The second unbelievable thing that had happened that summer was that she was _actually_ going to Italy. She had went to the Dursley’s for the day, with Diana and Ben. It was strange having either of them in her bedroom, when it looked nothing like her dorm. She still had floral beddings and lace curtains with a vase of fresh flowers. She was half-expecting Ben to comment on how feminine it was, as all boys do, but he remained quiet, standing by the door and petting Salem. Diana and Persephone went through her things, picking out what fit and what no longer did.

Over the course of the school year, Persephone’s skinny, small body had grown. She’d gained weight during her time at Hogwarts and it was only now that she realized she looked almost normal. With her history of ballet training, she’d always been showing the curve of her hips and the toned contour of her legs. Now, she could no longer count her ribs and she found her shirts began to feel slightly snug around her…chest.

Diana was recounting tales on her sisters as they unfolded and re-folded. “…and despite the fact that I literally don’t know her, she acts like I killed that stupid, yapping dog of hers—which, I have thought about, being as it’s the most annoying thing, _ever_.” She groaned. “And god, I think she’s gotten all her petty little friends to nag and bitch about me as if, again, I did something when I haven’t had more than like three conversations with her.”

Persephone was exhausted by the day, not physically but mentally. Despite everything that had happened, her mind was still reeling with information—Ben's foster parents were her neighbors. Did this mean he would be living with them? Was this the emergency that had occurred last summer? She was full of questions.

“But Gabrielle! Oh, I adore her,” Diana smiled, “She’s such a sweet girl, and wrote me such a nice letter before school starter, about how she couldn’t wait to meet me and hug me, I swear, Percy, there’s never been such a cute little girl!”

She realized she’d been staring at Ben when he suddenly caught her gaze. She looked away, “How are the dorms set up?”

It was too easy to let Diana gush about Beauxbatons, and it was even easier to listen to her. Despite her accent, she spoke with such an exquisite tone of voice that anyone could fall in love with her by listening to her speak. It was too easy to be lost in her stories.

“Holy shit,” Ben suddenly said, snapping his head to Diana. “Give me your phone!”

“Why?” Diana asked, startled.

Ben, waving his hands, looked panicked, “Hurry!”

Diana handed him her phone and he frantically typed something in. Diana and Persephone stared at each other with questioning eyes, before he groaned, “Nooooo!” He looked up and looked at Persephone. “Percy Jackson isn’t playing anymore in London!”

Her mind blanked and she scrambled to grab her laptop. Diana watched the two panic, not understanding their obsession of the book series movie adaptation. Persephone scanned the internet but found no illegal uploads of the movie.

“Since when is the government efficient?” Ben snapped when they scoured the internet for a good twenty minutes.

Diana was lying on Persephone’s bed, sighing dramatically, “Are you done yet? I’m bored out of my mind.”

“Wait, check Italian movie theatres,” Ben suggested loudly.

So a trip to Italy became much more realistic when the three decided to find a theatre that played the Percy Jackson movie. The thought of having a fun summer was completely out of the norm for Persephone.

The plan was to stay in Venice for three days, three days in Bologna, five days in Florence and a week in Rome. It was a relatively short trip, not meant to carry out for too long. Nonetheless, Diana packed as though it were a summer long trip. Diana requested her opinion on dresses that she tried on and turned for different angles while Persephone sat on the floor, sipping water, giving thoughtful opinions on each dress.

“So—after Italy what are you doing?” Diana asked as she dropped the dress to her feet and stepped out of it.

Persephone politely avoided looking, “Ballet program so I’ll be staying with a friend.”

“Hm, Charlie’s brother?” She asked.

“Cedric Diggory.”

“Never heard of him,” She did her hair up. “Do you want to be a ballerina when you grow up?”

Persephone leaned against the wall, surveying the dress she was buttoning up. Diana was a master at buttoning and zipping up dresses from the back. “I have no idea what I want to do anymore! For a while I wanted to be an engineer—now I want to be a potioneer. I never seriously considered being a professional ballerina.”

“You would be a very nice ballerina,” She commented. “Hm—I think I’d like to be a fashion designer—oh, have I shown you the uniform at Beauxbatons? It’s so pretty and made out of silk!” Persephone did not blame Ben for excusing himself—Diana was overwhelmingly passionate about a dizzying amount of things that it was almost hard to keep up.

“I am happy you have become friends with Ben,” Diana said randomly while trying on the fourteenth dress.

Persephone looked at her in surprise before blushing, “Well…I am happy too…even if he is annoying.” She didn’t really think they were friends but she wasn’t about to say that out loud.

“All boys are,” Diana smiled to her through the mirror, “But he seems more open now. He was very closed off and—”

“Moody?”

Diana laughed, “Shy, but now he is much more…how you say? Friendly.”

Italy was exquisite. Despite only staying a few days in each city, Persephone soaked everything up. The first night, they’d gotten in so late and the jet lag hadn’t hit just yet so they got this huge cheese pizza—which, by gods, was fantastic. They didn’t sleep so when the sun rose, they were up a good seventeen hours already. Mary made the three of them wear charms that allowed for the adults to locate the three of them, with an added category of intense protection spells. Then they allowed them to walk to their first sight while Mary and her husband went off for their business.

Persephone was surprised with how much trust Diana’s parents had in the three of them, but Diana wasn’t bothered. She led the way, flipping her hair at the people who stared at her in admiration. The Italian sun did wonders for her and people stopped to cast her a second glance. Ben and Persephone followed. Ben was enamored with his camera, taking pictures every few minutes, one of which Persephone posed for with a smile, the rest she was in she was sure she had no idea were being taken.

They visited the Academia first. The paintings of Veronese seemed to capture Persephone’s full and undivided attention and Ben had to repeat several questions—it seemed she was acting translator for the three of them, despite Diana’s study of the Italian language. It was only when Diana announced that she was hungry that Persephone had to allow herself to be dragged away.

Apparently it was much too early for any lunch venues so they hunted down some cafes, for brioches and fruit of the season. Next, they visited a bookstore, Acqua Alta—

“High water,” Persephone explained to Ben. “Like during the tide season.”

“Of course you know,” Ben snorted, “Percy,” He said in a mocking tone and she rolled her eyes.

The books in the store were stocked high up in bathtubs and even gondolas. It was very common to find a cat wandering the store that a lot of pictures from the album that would eventually come out of the trip were of the girls petting a cat. Persephone bought herself a beautiful copy of Dante’s _Divinia Comedia._

Unfortunately, they weren’t able to visit that many cathedrals but they were able to get some gelato before heading back to meeting Reginald and Mary. They planned a more together trip to visit the magical communities of Venice for the next day and finally the jet lag caught up with them.

“Apparently, in A.D 79, the Ancient Roman warlock, Zaccaria Innocenti cast the Dancing Feet Spell on Mount Vesuvius, triggering its eruption and destroying the Roman cities of Pompei and Herculaneum, killing at least 1500 people,” Ben read from the pamphlet they picked up from the entrance. It was a rather small community, tinier than Diagon Alley. They were only passing through but it was still much more comforting to see people using magic.

All over, the trip was filled with very non-magic things with a sprinkle of magic here and there but it was only after a three hour train ride to Turin on the third day early in the morning that Persephone was fully indulged in the magical roots of Italy.

There was a magical school in Turin, named _Istituto dei Maghi di Giubiana,_ Giubiana’s Wizard’s Institution. A magical train dropped them off near the gardens and while Mary and Reginald went up to speak with a tall, serious looking man, a girl, about Diana’s age, greeted them each with a kiss on the cheek, speaking in broken English, telling them her name was Evangeline and she would be taking them on a tour.

She explained that the school prided itself on the academic excellence, as it offered summer programs for those who were able to attend to them. They passed what could only be students, dressed in savoy blue robes with a golden bull clasp. Evangeline told them that the bull was the emblem of the city of Turin, as it appeared on both uniform and school crest. The blue was the color of the Royal House of Savoy that once ruled over Italy before it became a republic. She cheerfully added that this was why the national football team had blue uniforms despite the red, white and green flag.

The school was a single, sprawling building with carefully manicured grounds, modelled not after the main residences of the royal family but a hunting reservation, expanded in manners to allow for somewhat permanent residencies of the students. Their motto was written on the main hall’s wall, Alacriter Arcana Discimus: "We learn secrets with alacrity".

Evangeline described, half in Italian and half in English, that the school is name after a witch-like figure that appeared in northern Italian Non-Magical folklore. She told them that the non-magical people’s tradition was to burn a ‘giubiana’ on the last Thursday of January, as they saw the figure as scary and negative and the burning was meant to be symbolical. The naming of the school was done with purpose to reclaim the name and proudly reaffirm with a head held high that, “ _yes this is what we are, no matter how much you try to malign and repress us”._

Ben and Persephone shared a look but Diana had a gleaming look in her eye as she eyed Evangeline.

The location wasn’t random either. Esoteric traditions say that certain cities in the world form triangles, one for dark magic and one for light and Turin is the only place in the world to be part of both, along with London and San Francisco for the former, and Prague and Lyon for the latter.

It seemed like any other school—or at least, it seemed very much like Hogwarts. They played Quidditch in the expanding land and they had school tournaments. However, they did not have houses, so it was hard for Persephone to understand how they played against each other.

When they met with Mary and Reginald again, Persephone noticed Evangeline pass Diana a note. Persephone raised a brow and Diana smiled coyly.

When they arrived back to their little house in Venice some hours later, it was dinner time. Ben whispered into her ear, “Wait here.” He disappeared into the house and she grimaced after him—why was he so ominous? He was so dramatic.

When he returned, he gestured for her to follow him, “We’re going to the beach.”

She groaned, “I’m so hungry though!”

He cast her a side-glance, “Well, the moon will be out in a few hours so…”

She blinked, “We’re doing that _now_?”

Persephone was not like other witches—she carried a gene, a special gene passed from mother to child. Persephone was a siren—she didn’t have a tail or gills but apparently, at some point in her family tree, one of the women were born of the sea. Somehow, it was passed to her and she had some very…mermaid like traits. A beautiful, hypnotizing voice, a pretty face, an affinity towards the water…it was all very confusing and would be very cool for Persephone should the full moon not cause her so much pain every month. Much like a werewolf.

Ben was, well, she wasn’t exactly sure what he was. He wouldn’t admit to being a werewolf, which was irritating because he obviously was one. He had figured her out last year when he used one of her hairs as a wand core and made a fully functioning wand out of it. Long story. Other than her and the Weasley twins, she was sure he had no other friends, isolating himself very successfully from most of the Hogwarts population. He kept a lot of secrets but she thought she trusted him—she would trust him more if he didn’t always take her off into dangerous situations—the Forbidden Forest in the night, was one.

He was annoyingly ominous, somehow always able to omit very important information from her. It was a gift—like he only spoke of the Alchemy studies done at the school they had visited. She thought maybe he didn’t trust her as much as he should—they did go through several painful full moons together, after all.

“So,” She said following after him, “You’re being really quiet. On the night of a full moon.”

He raised a brow at her, glancing back at her with his amazing eyes. “Would you rather I tell you all about my thoughts and feelings?”

She shrugged, “Wouldn’t hurt.”

“Right,” He said. When the grass turned to sand, she pulled her small heeled shoes off, feeling a lure from the water some ways beyond them. “While we’re here, we should get some extra water—” She didn’t hear the rest as she had darted forward, at some point dropping her bag and shoes on the sand in the process. “And there she goes.” She heard faintly in an exasperated voice.

She felt a sudden satisfaction when she reached the water, feeling as though a layer of her skin fell off. She was ready to dive in when someone looped their hand around her arm, holding back. She hissed back at him and then covered her mouth, “Sorry!”

“Good to see you’re still in control,” Ben commented, raising his brow. “Wouldn’t wanna wet your pretty dress,” He said, pulling her slightly towards him. He kept his hold on her wrist, as if to make sure she didn’t swim away, which was probably really smart while he dug in his bag. He pulled out his wand and Persephone’s eyes widened.

“We’re not allowed to use magic out of school!” She hissed at him. “We’ll get in trouble!”

He looked at her in amusement, “Okay Seph.” He pointed his wand and without speaking an incantation, sent a light volt of red to the ground. Where it met the sand, it flamed hot and smoke floated away before revealing a jar. “Here. Fill it with water.”

He handed her the jar and she raised a brow, “Why?”

He looked at her with impatience, “The jar is made from Mediterranean sand so once you fill it with ocean water, it will refill itself with the same water each time—which is Mediterranean water—”

“Okay, got it,” She rolled her eyes, leaning down to fill it with water. His hold on her wrist slid from her wrist to her hand until he was holding her fingers. His hand tightened. “I’m not going to swim away.” She told him.

“Your hair’s white,” He said. He was right. Her hair was falling over her shoulder and it was no longer curly and auburn red but slick, straight and very blonde white. She said nothing and kept filling the jar. When it was filled to the rim, she handed it back. “So from what I read, this is good for eyes and skin—”

“Skin?”

He tightened the jar lid, “Your skin will be really dry to the point of peeling off layers of skin, inflammation and shitty rashes—” She gasped, “So like, make a moisturizer out of this will you?”

“Right,” She grimaced. She felt more in control than any other full moon. She thought it had to do with his hand tightened around hers. However she still pulled him towards the water, trying to dive in but only successfully falling into the water face first, still having his hand in hers. He pulled her up by hand easily, almost lifting her above and out of the water.

She coughed, embarrassed.

“So…so am I going to…?”

“Become a fish?” She frowned at the wording. “No, you’re half human.”

“So…?”

“So only by choice.” He told her.

“Only…by choice…?”

“Probably.”

“PROBABLY!?” She screeched. He winced, staring at her in annoyance. “That’s—”

“As much as I know, sorry,” He said, staring at her. Annoyance overcame her and a feral instinct moved her to twist his hand, which was still in hers, to pull him close where she lifted her leg up and around his neck, pulling him down into the water. She pushed his head down for half a second until he overpowered her by raising them both up out of the water, her on his back. Before she could try again, he had already rushed them away from the shore and onto the grass.

She blinked as he flipped her, holding her instead up in his arms. He stared down at her, cocking a brow, “Feel better?”

She crossed her arms, “Whoops?”

“Right,” He set her down and she grimaced down at her attire. Covered in sea water and sand, her eyes were burning with tears. “We should head back now.”

“Could we—”

“No.”

“I won’t—”

“Yes, you will try to drown me again, we both are very well aware that you will try and drown me if we go back so we are not going back.” He crossed his arms and stared at her as if daring her to try to go back to the ocean. She knew he would either carry her back or drag her so she let him lead.

“Right, well,” She huffed, turning away to stare at the sea. “I don’t think my wanting to drown you has anything to do with the full moon.”

She shifted her weight onto her other foot and it was too late to realize her legs were suddenly inadequate in supporting her full weight. She heard the crack before she fully registered it and she fell to the ground, gasping in pain.

“Jesus what—”

She screamed, a long scream as she felt a tearing in her legs. Blinding, white pain shot up her legs and her bones started breaking. She reached for her legs, scratching at them, needing the skin off her. She screamed, gasping as the skin peeled off and she felt herself break.

She felt herself being picked up and then the splash of water made her snap, and she kicked away from the person near her, clawing her way under the waves. She felt a sting by her hair roots and cried out as her white and silvery hair reacted to the water. She struggled, her body on fire and her legs heavier and heavier—there was no resisting the change when she felt the pins and needles in her mouth, as though her DNA was changing as the seconds went by.

She screamed into the water, struggling. She felt her bones break, her spine snap all the way up and she couldn’t control her screams anymore. Her legs were no longer legs—they broke and fused together.

She was crying and in pain and it hurt—it hurt how she came to be, but when she looked up, she could see. Her eyes, made for the water, were able to see everything clearly—tears flooded her eyes at the moment, but beyond that, beyond the water, the full moon was clear.

Ben stood in ankle deep water, staring off as she disappeared. He was gasping, unable to keep himself from feeling the fear he did. He’d asked Diana to cover for them, without giving a proper reason as to why, but now? Would Persephone come back?

He couldn’t stop to think of this answer, for his own change had just begun.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Persephone was sore. Neither she nor Ben spoke the next day, much too tired to say anything useful. She kept taking showers, unable to keep herself cool enough. Walking was worse and she couldn’t keep herself from downing water bottles by the litre.

After Venice, they travelled down to Bologna. Despite being…changed, it was enjoyable all the same. They had hit Bologna right in the middle of a film festival, where there were nightly free movies. The three—Diana, Persephone and Ben—settled in near the cathedral steps to watch and while Ben couldn’t understand much, it was beautiful. She looked around—she could understand everyone’s conversations, despite their accents. And it wasn’t just Italian—it was German, Portuguese, Greek…it was good to know why she was so good with languages. She just hoped she wouldn’t soon be able to understand fishes.

An old couple passed them a smiled, commenting in Italian, “Una bellissima coppia! Giovane amore!”

Narrowing her eyes, Persephone leaned away from Ben and ignored Diana’s snickering and Ben's asking what they said. She told him they were speaking to themselves. She wasn’t sure he believed her. She tried her best to ignore the proximity by people watching—no one was on any cell phone and there was a sense of community—but to no avail.

They visited the Fontana del Nettuno in the Piazza del Nettuno, the incomplete Basilica di San Petronio church, and they stopped by the quadrilatero. It was…haunting, to step into the enclave. She could feel the medieval past, as some parts were still their authentic selves. It was a beautiful pathway of narrow paths between close buildings with cobblestone floors. They passed many markets, some butches, delis, fish markets, bakeries, high end apparel stores. Her favorite was when they passed slowly by a jewelers store, where many pretty necklaces were on show. The man working there called to them, “Belle signore!”

They stopped, smiling sheepishly, and the man offered a necklace, “Bella collana per belle donne, eh!” At this, he reached back to clasp a necklace around Diana’s neck, smiling as he did. It was a sweet and genuine sentiment. Diana was beaming the whole next twenty minutes and Ben nudged her, earning him a slap on the arm.

It wasn’t just Diana getting loads of attention from admirers. It seemed that the full moon had different effects on Persephone. She was getting attention too, though she knew she didn’t look different. A florist gave her a bouquet of flowers for free, which was very nice, until he offered her the entire store. She raised a brow.

“Perhaps you are part veela,” Diana said, linking their arms.

“Veela?” Persephone questioned.

“Veela. Native to Bulgaria. They are semi-human people, usually women with very white-gold hair and skin like the moon. They aren’t fully human, though, they have bird heads with a long beak and have long wings from their shoulders, when angry.” She told her casually. “They dance and hypnotize anyone who love women.”

“O—oh…” Persephone blushed deeply. “How?”

“They have their own type of magic, I think.” She said. “They can even launch fire balls from their hands. I haven’t been able to do that just yet, not right anyway.”

“Wait, what?” Persephone stopped. “Are you…”

Diana giggled, “Of course! I am beautiful, no?”

Persephone sputtered, “But your hair…”

“I am half-spanish.”

“Like me?” She said out dumbly.

Diana nodded, “Maybe you are part veela…or maybe siren? Siren and veela are very closely related—you know the earliest sirens had bird body instead of fish?”

“HAhahaha!” She laughed hysterically, “Right…”

“Well, if you were a siren, I would know. I am only a fourth veela but sirens and veela imprint on each other.”

“Ah, veelas and sirens share a lot of traits—being short tempered is one,” Ben offered cheerfully and earned two smacks. “Jeez!”

And so the plot thickens.

“So…does your sister not like you…because…?”

“Well, yes, because I am also veela, but more because I am more beautiful than her,” She said, shrugging. “She may be a little racist too—I mean, I am more beautiful than her veela and I had dark characteristics, no?”

“Huh.”

“If I were your type of Spanish, maybe she might like me more…”

Persephone raised a brow, “My type?”

“If I were pale Spanish…” She sighed almost miserably. “I do not mean you are less Spanish, I just mean people are more nicer to people who look like you, who talk like you.” She smiled sheepishly at Persephone, “I am a little jealous but I hope I do not offend you?”

“No, no I think I understand…” Persephone frowned to herself. She thought about this for a long time.

She was a metamorphmagus, she can change the way she looks but she liked the way she looked. Did she like the way she looked because everyone around her was pleased with how she looked? Pale skin, light eyes? Would she be miserable if she did look more like her father did, with his olive skin, dark eyes and hair? Would she not be pretty? Is that how girls like Hermione, Lavender, Parvati and Diana always felt? Persephone felt sick to her stomach.

After Bologna, they spent five days in Florence, where they visited the Duomo di Firenze, quickly becoming tired from the four hundred six-three steps in time spaces. They reached the lantern at the very top of the structure, which was apparently the highest point in central Florence. They visited the Uffizi, where Persephone nearly cried at seeing Botticelli’s finest pieces with her actual eyes. It wasn’t just the gallery which amazed her but the venue itself. It was architecturally fascinating, having been built in the 16th century, designed by Giorgio Vasari. She spent a good portion of the three hours they spent there being lost at how breathtaking it all was.

Afterwards, they visited the galleria dell’Accademia. It was to Ben's great pleasure that they were allowed to take pictures and now she had a picture of her standing next to David, something that a 26-year-old Michelangelo had carved out of a single block of marble 500 years ago. It was absolutely beautiful…

They bought some fresh food from the Mercato Centrale before travelling to the Giardino Bardini. The beautiful purple wisteria arch was in full bloom. Ben was the one who ventured farther away, for pictures. She was craning her neck at a painful angle but it was worth it. They climbed the beautiful staircase and took in the view over the city.

They took a stop the next day at the Caffe Gilli for pastries and to satisfy Diana’s apparent addiction to caffeine. They took a bus to Fiesole where they found themselves at the hilltop town that overlooks the valley of Florence. Granted, they took the wrong bus but still ended up in a beautiful place. They toured a roman theater, the San Francesco convent and then was dragged out to the hiking trails by Ben, who was going on about how amazing and incredible it was that they were standing where Da Vinci had first tried out his flying machines.

They visited the Arno River, that she stayed a good measure away from, just in case. Their final three stops were to the Vivoli Gelato for some gelato, then to the leather shops, where Ben tried out a gorgeous black leather jacket. Persephone grabbed it and another jacket of the same style but in a coffee color and gave Diana the money to pay for it. Birthday present was in check. If he were to ever tell her when his birthday was—maybe Christmas was better.

The final place they visited was the Biblioteca delle Oblate. With live music and a book in hand, it was the best thing to do on their final day in Florence.

The last week of their trip was to be in Rome. Persephone was ever so excited for it. They visited the Piazza Navona, where they saw the Fountain of Four rivers. They visited the iconic Colosseum. It lived up to the hype of its name—the largest amphitheatre ever built, with the capacity to hold 50 000 to 80 000 people, she was not disappointed.

They strolled about the Roman Forum and the Palatine Hill and she almost felt bad for Ben having to listen to her Roman mythology lessons. Truly all of their trip was her giving lessons on the roman myths but the only time she was able to really just not contain herself was when they visited the Pantheon.

She sat by the Trevi Fountain, again with gelato, wondering how much trouble she’d get in for swimming in the fountain. Shouldn’t sirens get privileges? They walked along the Tiber, and she was overwhelmed with emotion at knowing she was at the place where Remus and Romulus were once said to have been. Ben had annoyingly gotten several pictures of her crying by the river and she wouldn’t speak to him for an hour. They wandered the narrow streets of Trastever, on the west bank of the Tiber River.

And then, much to her surprise, they visited another magical school.

The Rhea Silvia Imperial Academy of Sorcery was a beautiful school, with a dedicated section of the catacombs, well protected from tourists of non-magical people with repelling charms. The school was named well, being as Rhea Silvia was the mother of Romulus and Remus. It was _entirely underground._ It was an incredible sight.

They taught Latin here, something Persephone was well jealous of. Their motto was Nobis a Maioribus, roughly translated to “From Our Ancestors to Us”, which Persephone thought was well put. Their entire theme was based of Roman mythology. The school color was red, and their uniform was white mostly, with some red accents, secured at the shoulder and resembling a toga rather than a wizard’s classic robes. Persephone was astonished.

When the end of the trip came, she was very sad to leave. She wouldn’t forget, of course, and the things she’d seen would remain with her forever, she thought—another thing stuck with her. She had to go back to the Durlseys.

And that was when everything seemed to go wrong.

She’d come home, half-expecting Salem, her cat, to be killed or worse—sat on by Dudley. She’d left her cat with a neighbor, Mrs. Figg’s, and found he was okay. That was good. Hedwig, too, was alright. She’d paid a pet carrier service to take care of her and she’d been magically transported back to her cage the morning she’d come back.

She was sure none of the Dursleys were up yet. She stuck her hand through the mail slot and extended her hand to reach the lock. Unlocking the door, she very slowly opened the door and stepped across the threshold. Quickly and silently, she closed the door behind them and took her suitcase and her book bag over her should and running up the stairs.

Nothing had changed. She had the same lace curtains, flower bedding and white vase on her dresser. She shut the door, and found Hedwig in her cage. She unpacked some of her clothes, some books and her journal as well, trying her best not to make amess. In a few days she’d be gone to Cedric Diggory’s for the dance program anyway. She clasped the suitcase shut and accidently knocked it over, making a large bang. This didn’t disturb the Durlseys, who were still sleeping, but it did disturb Hedwig.

She squawked awake and then saw Persephone and started squeaking excitedly. She ran across the room, trying to hush the bird but it was too late. She heard a grunt in the next room and then a shift in the floorboards—someone was awake.

A few seconds later, the door was thrown open. “Girl!” He shouted. Behind him, Aunt Petunia peered over his shoulder.

Oh, she did not miss her uncle. He hadn’t changed, at all.

As surprising as it was, Persephone Potter was indeed related to the Durlseys. She looked nothing like any of them. Uncle Vernon was large and neckless, with an enormous black mustache; Aunt Petunia was horse-faced and bony; their son, Dudley was blond, pink, and porky. Persephone, on the other hand, was small and skinny, with a well early developed shape under the baggy clothes she wore. She had long, curly red hair and brilliant, upturned almond shaped green and blue eyes. But because she was a metamorphmagus, she could change her appearance at will very easily, though she had not done anything but keep her eyebrows done.

Something not so easily covered up was the thin lightning-shaped scar on her forehead. The scar was only there, sketched into her skin abnormally by one of the most dangerous wizards that ever lived who’d failed to murder her and was the reason that she was found by her Aunt Petunia on the doorstep.

When she was but a year and three months old, Persephone had survived the curse that no one could, the curse with no counter curse, from Voldemort (stupid name, I know). Persephone’s parents were not so lucky, but as it turned out it was not luck but her mother’s love that protected her. The curse had rebounded and nearly destroyed Voldemort’s powers, and himself, really. This was why she was famous, why people had once raised their glasses to The Girl Who Lived.

But, of course, she’d been brought up by her dead mother’s sister and her husband. Ten years here had truly put a strain on Persephone, especially when she’d been told that her parents abandoned her. At some point, the story changed to they had been in a car accident but it was never mentioned again. It was unnerving, how little respect they had for Persephone’s dead parents.

As was usual, even ten years of being here would not cause them to miss her. She was surprised Dudley had not taken over her room while she’d been gone.

“Two minutes in this house and you already make a mess, cause a ruckus already—” Hedwig squawked loudly, “And that bloody bird! You’re lucky I allow you back in this house!”

After several minutes of screaming, he dragged the suitcase she had out of the room, “No bloody magic tricks in this house!” Before he slammed the door behind him and she heard the click of the lock being locked. She sighed.

What else had she truly been expecting?


	2. Welcomed and Unwelcomed Visitors

Persephone was losing count for how many times it had been that week that the same argument broke out over breakfast.

Uncle Vernon had been woken in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from her room.

“Third time this week!” he roared across the table. “If you can’t control that ruddy owl, it’ll have to go!”

Persephone had given up trying to reason. She’d given the proper excuse of how Hedwig wasn’t used to being locked up all day and night, that she was used to flying around. Of course, this only led to Uncle Vernon becoming offended, snarling about how he knew that the owl being let out would be a means of communication.

Persephone was accustomed to simply answering with a, “Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

“Hey! PHONEY!” She jumped, looking wildly at her cousin. “Pass the frying pan.” He smirked, belching loudly.

That particular morning had been rather…hard. She was going longer and longer without food and the Durlseys showed her no mercy. She only really saw the Durlseys twice a day, when she was allowed to eat something. She was either locked in her room or locked out of the house and with Mary and Reginald gone for the rest of the summer with Diana, so truly, she was alone.

As was usual, even ten years of being here had not been enough for them to remember her birthday, which was today. She was twelve years old, officially, today, and how had she started her day? Miserably. She missed Hogwarts—she missed her friends. Why hadn’t they written? She couldn’t write to them, as Uncle Vernon had locked her owl in her cage, something that greatly irritated Hedwig, and bars went up on her window.

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat loudly making her jump once more, and said, “Now, as we all know, today is a very important day.” Persephone looked confused…had she spoken too soon…? “This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career,” said Uncle Vernon.

Persephone nodded in. Of course. How could she forget? The stupid dinner party would be hosted that evening. It was all she had heard about the one week she’d been here whenever she crossed paths with Uncle Vernon, which was usually just at meal times. Some rich builder would be joining them for dinner with his wife and Uncle Vernon would be pitching a huge order from him for his drill company. Not his, of course, because he was definitely not smart enough for that sort of title.

“I think we should run through the schedule one more time,” Uncle Vernon said. “We should all be in position at eight o’clock. Petunia, you will be —?”

“In the lounge,” Aunt Petunia said promptly, “waiting to welcome them graciously to our home.” She waved her arm haughtily and Persephone closed her eyes and breathed out—how ridiculous.

“Good, good. And Dudley?”

“I’ll be waiting to open the door.” Dudley put on a foul, simpering smile. “May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?”

“They’ll love him!” Aunt Petunia cried and Persephone feared she was near tears.

“Excellent, Dudley,” said Uncle Vernon. Then, he rounded his beady eyes to stare at Persephone. “And you?”

Persephone straightened, plastering a fake smile across her face, “I will be a respectable young lady and only speak when spoken to. I will laugh at your jokes and nod along when you are telling a story and not speak unless spoken to.” She said with a fake preppy tone, trying to low key mock Uncle Vernon.

Since her, er, transformation, something had changed about Persephone. Yes, she was naturally a pretty girl only because her mother was a beautiful girl, but there seemed to be an added tone of beauty. She knew sirens attracted many and all men to them with great beauty and were lured into the siren’s bidding with just their beauty. It seemed Persephone had the same sort of beauty—unfortunately, it did not work on those you were related to. All she knew was that she was now very beautiful and very persuasive.

Besides, the Masons had no children and she was sure the Durlseys were hoping they would take her off their hands.

“Exactly right you will,” Uncle Vernon said nastily. “And I will lead them lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight-fifteen—”

“I’ll announce dinner,” said Aunt Petunia.

“And, Dudley, you’ll say—”

“May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?” Dudley held out an exaggerated arm for an invisible woman to take.

“My perfect little gentleman!” Aunt Petunia sniffed and Persephone prayed she would not burst into tears again.

“And you?” said Uncle Vernon viciously to Persephone.

“I will sit next to Aunt Petunia and smile, not say a word if not spoken to and hope they adopt me,” She muttered the last part.

“Precisely,” He nodded. “Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?”

“Vernon tells me you’re a _wonderful_ golfer, Mr. Mason… Do tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs. Mason…”

“Perfect…” He looked expectedly at Persephone, who at this point had drifted off and monotonously said,

“I will sit still and look pretty…”

“YOU WILL NOT!” He shouted, banging his fist on the table, making her jump.

“OH! Okay, I—um, I think you two would make wonderful parents, please adopt me?” She shrugged.

“Work on that, girl,” Uncle Vernon right near growled, before turning to his son, “Dudley?”

“How about —‘We had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr. Mason, and I wrote about you.’”

This was too much—Persephone had to fight very hard not to laugh while her aunt burst into tears.

“Perfect,” Uncle Vernon said proudly, but proud of what? Persephone did not know. “Now, when dinner’s over, you take Mrs. Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Petunia, and you,” He turned on Persephone. “Will follow your aunt and say not a word, while I bring the subject around to drills. With any luck, I’ll have the deal signed and sealed before the news at ten. Be shopping for a vacation home in Majorca this time tomorrow.”

Persephone did not feel like the Dursleys would want her anymore in Majorca than they do here and besides, she did not want to travel with them. They would probably desert her in the middle of the ocean if given the chance. Not that she minded much.

“Right—I’m off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me. And you,” he snarled at Persephone. “You will follow your aunt’s orders to the dot, understand?”

She wandered out of the house under the pretense of taking care of the garden, humming. The flowers pressed out of the earth at her humming, turning to her as she passed.

She sighed, opening her eyes as she sat on the bench and immediately, she spotted two enormous green eyes staring at her. She gasped.

“I know what day it is,” Dudley said as he walked out the back door. He waddled over to her, smirking. 

“Lovely to know you finally know the days of the week,” She muttered, sitting back against the tree.

“Today’s your birthday,” he sneered. “And you haven’t gotten any cards from your freak friends from that place.”

She gave him a look, “It’s a school, Dudley, not a jail.” She crossed her arms over her tender breasts, wincing. “You ought to not let ‘mummy’ hear you talking about my school, Dudleykins,” She told him mockingly.

He pulled up his trousers, and stared at her, “Why are you staring at the hedge?”

“I’m deciding which way is best to set it on fire,” She told him casually.

Dudley stumbled backward at once, a look of panic on his fat face.

“You c-can’t—Dad told you you’re not to do m-magic—he said he’ll chuck you out of the house—and you haven’t got anywhere else to go—you haven’t got any friends to take you—”

“Maybe I’ll set the house on fire instead,” She said thoughtfully. “Maybe start with your computer, then your room.” She told him and watched with satisfaction as he panicked, howling for his mother.

She gazed miserably into the hedge, never having felt so lonely. She had a cat, yes, and an owl, yes, but by God, more than anything else at Hogwarts, more even than playing Quidditch, Persephone missed her best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Even Susan Bones had not written to her. They, however, didn’t seem to be missing her at all. Not a single letter, all summer. Hadn’t Ron said he was going to invite her over this summer?

Something of a terrible coil in her chest told her maybe Ron didn’t want her to come, that maybe he didn’t want to be near a fish freak like her. This, of course, was impossible. Ron didn’t know--only Ben knew. And Ben, yes, knew and was friends with Ron’s brothers, but Ben was not one to snitch. Especially not on her. 

There she was, sitting with her friends on the last day of school. She was happy and looking forward to getting her grades back and the party in Gryffindor house. How had she gone from that girl to this one? Feeling dry and itchy skin should she not touch water in six hours, talking to her cat. Was she becoming Mrs. Figgs? How was this fair?

She wanted to be the girl at the party, who Neville had confessed to being the one who had sent her the Valentine that exploded dye on her and Susan, but only because Draco had jinxed it—he’d told her this when she showed him a picture of their parents together. She’d told him it was okay—and then she apologized to the twins for suspecting it’d been them. Then she’d vowed to show Malfoy her rage. Where was she?

She barely remembered what she’d planned that night to get him back with. She’d be fully supportive of him even sending her hate mail right now, just to insure everything had truly happened.

Persephone was called inside and given many chores to do after ducking under a rolling pin aimed at her head. Aunt Petunia used the punishment as a way to get her doing the lawn and garden. Persephone’s handy job in Herbology definitely showed on the Durlsey’s lawn.

Dudley watched Persephone do chores while lazing around, eating ice cream. She took care of the garden, using her Herbology skills, she cleaned the windows and polished the door.

Around four o’clock, Aunt Petunia gestured for her to come in and ordered her to take a shower. “Walk on the newspaper! Take a shower, quickly, and shave your legs, I want no ‘buts’, girls are not to have any hairy legs, now go!”

Persephone grumbled up the stairs—where was modern feminism when she needed it? What sort of world was it that girls had to shave for the reason that _girls are not to have any hairy legs?_ How absolutely stupid!

She wished she could simply use her metamorphmagus powers but they seemed to have simmered. Ever since that she’d gotten back to the Durlseys, she had been unable to do anything with her appearance.

She showered quickly, satisfied with the water cooling her off. She did a thorough job of shampooing and conditioning her hair. Fortunately, since entering the water, she had no hair to shave. She suppose fish didn’t have any hair and mermaids only had hair on their heads. It was rather…strange.

When she returned to her bedroom, aunt Petunia had laid out the dress she would be wearing for the evening and many products on her dresser. First and foremost, she shoved lotion in her hands, “Lotion everywhere. I’ll return for your hair in ten minutes.”

She didn’t need lotion either—she had the softest skin. Just having been in the water made her smooth and soft and silky that being a fish freak was almost worth it. She dropped her towel. Her hair was in wet waves down to her hips, darkened by the water and her cheeks were flushed. Had she changed? She felt bloated. Turning, she noticed her breasts had grown. And they hurt. Her hips, too, had widened—she was only twelve! Why all the change!?

She dried herself off easily—siren power? Maybe—before putting the dress on. The dress looked old-fashioned, more 50s inspired then modern. It was baby pink, with lots of slippery silk above the actual skirt. It was a collared dressed with see through, loose silk adorning the bodice. The bodice was heart shaped, with button to the skirt that hugged her waist.

Then, she grabbed her magical brush and quickly went through the length of her hair several times, having it come out in big waves and curls that hung gracefully around her face.

She was sitting where she was before when Aunt Petunia walked in, pinning a bobby pin in to pull some hair from her face on one side. Aunt Petunia stared before catching herself, sniffing and laying down a pearl necklace and earrings, as well as some perfume on the dresser and lightly heeled baby pink shoes with an ankle strap. She placed another rectangle box on her dressed and Aunt Petunia coughed, “Your birthday present.”

She stared in shock after the door closed. Huh. That’s…thoughtful.

She strapped the heels on, put the jewellery on and spritz the perfume on. She held her mother’s necklace carefully in her fingers before tucking it under her dress collar and out of sight. She dabbed on some lipstick and blush and smiled at her reflection. Smile and look pretty. She could do that.

Persephone went downstairs slower than usual later, at just half pasted seven, not being used to heels and came into the kitchen. On top of the fridge stood tonight’s pudding: a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets. A loin of roast pork was sizzling in the oven.

Aunt Petunia nodded in approval before Uncle Vernon nodded, “Very good job, Petunia. Very good.” Dudley simply gaped at her. “Now girl, remember?”

She said nothing but put on her sweetest, dimpliest smile, nodding along, batting her lashes. He huffed in what looked like agreement. Finally the door rang and everyone panicked for a moment. Aunt Petunia grabbed Persephone by the shoulder to have her stand by her.

Uncle Vernon answered the door. Dudley offered to take coats. Aunt Petunia led them to the lounge and Persephone sat still and looked pretty. Apparently, Uncle Vernon had gotten it wrong. It was not a Mrs. Mason but a Mr. Mason and Mr. Loveshire. His wife was not to be attending the evening, as his business partner would be coming instead.

Persephone smiled as both men took an interest in Persephone. “And what would your name be?”

“Persephone, sir,” She smiled. He nodded, smiling as well.

“Well, Persephone, do call me Thomas.” He smiled.

It went well enough. Boring, but well. Persephone nodded along as if she were interested in any of Uncle Vernon’s stories, laughed uncomfortably at the Japanese golfer story and ate her appetizer.

Finally, when dinner was announced at 8:15 sharp, they moved to the dining room. Persephone was starving. She forgot that she had not eaten since...had she eaten today?

When she finished helping Aunt Petunia place out dishes and offer everyone wine, she made a move to sit next to aunt Petunia, but Thomas intervened, “Sit next to me, won’t you?”

She smiled, as was her only task of the evening, and took her seat next to him. She noticed a meaningful look pass between the two men and when Thomas patted his partner’s shoulder, the touch lingered.

She understood immediately what sort of partners they were and settled. This would not be a good evening if the Durlseys found out.

“Won’t you tell us where you go to school, dear?” He asked.

Before Persephone could open her mouth, Aunt Petunia spoke up, “She goes to St-Mary’s Academy of Arts. She is in for ballet. Dudley goes to Smeltings Academy.”

Ballet? They told everyone she went to an art school? For arts? For dance? She smiled through this story and nodded. “And how do you like it?”

She glanced at Uncle Vernon and he nodded. She smiled, “Very well, sir. I find the school is a wonderful opportunity for me.”

“Now, now, it’s Thomas, no sirs,” He told her, smiling once more. She smiled gratefully.

“And you do ballet? How long have you done so?” His partner asked.

“Since I was three.” He tutted, impressed.

“And you’ve made friends?” Thomas asked. She nodded. “A well-mannered girl like you, no doubt.”

Aunt Petunia intervened with a compliment and Persephone turned to her dinner. She was hopefully doing okay. She thought she was.

“So, tell me Persephone, why is it that you live with your uncle and aunt?” Thomas asked her suddenly.

She swallowed her bite and said, “Well, my parents…” Abandoned or car crash? Which sounded more normal? “Died. When I was young.” That was the truth. “I’ve been with them for as long as I can remember.”

“Oh, you poor girl,” His partner, who had corrected her to use his name, Ross, gasped.

“Oh, I don’t remembered them,” She smiled in a way that was sad, because it was sad. “I’m lucky Aunt Petunia took me in. They’ve been so outwardly good to me, I don’t know where I would end up if they had not been so selfless to take me in.” That should score her some points with them.

“Well, Petunia, Vernon, I must say, you have quite the sweet girl, here,” Thomas said. “Are you planning on adopting the sweet child?”

Uncle Vernon sputtered into his drink and Persephone spoke up, “Oh, no, we’ve already decided that I would be too sad to lose my name, as it is the only thing I have of my parents,” She said quickly, earning sympathy points, no doubt.

When dinner was finally done with, Persephone insisted on clearing the table. Thomas and Ross nodded in appreciation at how well-mannered she was and she smiled, going back into the kitchen as everyone moved into the lounge for coffee and dessert.

Persephone listened to the conversation as she started piling dishes away in the sink, and carefully managing several things at once. Though magic was not allowed, technically, this was non-wand magic she was doing, so it didn’t really count. She made coffee while she carefully lowered the dessert from down on top of the fridge when she heard the crack. She nearly dropped the plate of dessert and only managed to slide it back onto the fridge.

“What was that?” She whispered to Ben, who was invisible.

She turned, cautiously staring at the back door. She made a reckless decision to go and have a peek and when she did, she found that she might have screamed.

What stood in the backyard was not a person but also not an animal.

The little creature had large bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. Persephone knew, without a doubt that she had seen this morning.

Upon seeing her, the creature bowed so low that the end of its long, thin nose touched the well-trimmed lawn. She noticed it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm and leg holes.

“Er—hi…there,” Persephone said nervously, closing the door behind her.

“Persephone Potter!” The creature squealed in a high-pitched voice. Persephone was glad the door was shut behind her. “So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, miss…Such an honor it is…”

“Th-thank you, sir?” Persephone tried. She pursed her lips, “Who are you?”

“Dobby, miss. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf,” the creature said.

“Oh…” She nodded. “Wow…okay…” She said, still nodding. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude but um, what are you doing here?” The elf hung his head making Persephone immediately ashamed. “I mean, I did not expect a guest at this…hour. I would have…made tea,” She glanced up, and then looked at him again. “Won’t you tell me why you’re here?”

“Dobby has come to tell you, miss…it is difficult, miss…Dobby wonders where to begin…”

“Why don’t you sit down and collect your thoughts—” She was hoping to return to him later but that seemed rude. She pointed at the bench just as the elf burst into tears. Shocked and confused, she reached out, not knowing what to do.

“S-sit down!” he wailed. “Never… never ever…”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend—”

“ _Offend_ Dobby!” the elf choked. “Dobby has never been asked to sit down by a witch—like an equal—and to be asked by the great Persephone Potter…!”

Persephone, panicking, tried to lead the elf to the bench. He looked like a very ugly doll, hiccoughing and sniffing big green boogers. Thankfully, he was able to control himself enough to sit and star up at her with great big green eyes, filled with tears and adoration. 

“I cannot imagine you’ve come across too many decent people, then,” She said, in hopes of getting a laugh. He shook his head and then he got up and started banging his head down on the bench. Persephone shot off it as he started shouting, “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!”

“Dobby! What are you doing!?” She hissed as quietly as possibly. She pulled him away from the bench, staring down at him in shock. 

“Dobby had to punish himself, miss,” The elf sad miserably and cross eyed. “Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir…”

“Your family?”

“The wizard family Dobby serves, miss…Dobby is a house-elf—bound to serve one house and one family forever…”

That did not sound fun. “And do they know where you are? Won’t they get worried by your absence?”

Dobby shuddered and Persephone took that as a no, “Oh, no, miss, they would not…Dobby will have to punish himself most terrible for coming to see you again, miss. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew, miss—”

“But won’t they notice if you shut your ears in the oven door?”

“Dobby doubts it, miss. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, miss. They lets Dobby get on with it, miss. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments…”

“What? Wait—are there no laws for this? This is abuse! You’re being abused!” She said outraged. Who could be so cruel?

“The laws are ancient, miss, and remain limited to one: a house-elf must be set free by their family, miss. My family will never set Dobby free…Dobby will serve the family until he dies, miss…”

Persephone stared. Was he coming to her asking for help? She could not help. How could she? “Is there anything I could do?”

Almost at once, Persephone regretted her question as Dobby dissolved again into wails of gratitude.

“Oh, no! Please, don’t—if the Durlseys hear anything—”

“Persephone Potter asks if she can help Dobby…Dobby has heard so much about your greatness and bravery, miss, but never did Dobby hear about how Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew…” He quieted for a moment as Persephone grew hot in the face, “Dobby has heard whisperings, miss, that Persephone Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time just weeks ago! And he sees now that Persephone Potter escape without a scratch!”

Persephone nodded slowly, and his eyes filled again with more tears.

“Valiant and bold! Persephone Potter has braved already so many dangers that Dobby has come to protect her from another danger, a terrible danger! Persephone must not go back to Hogwarts.”

A long silence ensued and Persephone snorted, “Right, sure.”

“No, no, no!” Dobby squeaked, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. “Persephone Potter must stay where she is safe. She is much too great, too good, to lose. If Persephone Potter goes back to Hogwarts, she will be in mortal danger.”

“Dobby, I’m in mortal danger, here in this house. If you’d have come any other night, you’d have seen it…wait….you said again. You said come again.” She narrowed her eyes. “Dobby, how long exactly were you in that bush?”

“Miss musn’t be mad…Dobby did it for her own good!” He said nervously.

She stared at him for a long moment, “What did you do for my own good, Dobby?”

Dobby reached into the pillowcase he was wearing and pulled out a thick wad of envelopes, tied together with a leather cord. And then he pulled out a package, after package. She stared at the stack.

“How does that all fit in there?” She muttered to herself. “Dobby, give me my mail.”

“Persephone Potter must listen to Dobby! There is a plot, a plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year,” Dobby whispered, suddenly trembling all over. “Dobby has known it for months, miss. Persephone Potter must not put herself in peril.”

“Can you be more specific? Who’s plotting what terrible things?” She asked at once, crossing her arms.

Dobby made a funny choking noise and then punched himself with a package. 

“Dobby!” Persephone hissed. “I understand—you cannot tell me. But I cannot not go to school! How will I learn?” She stared at him before something odd occurred to her. “Does this involved You-Know-Who? Shake or nod your head.”

Slowly, Dobby shook his head.

“No—it’s not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—”

“Well, then, I don’t know if anyone could be causing such peril in a school run by Albus Dumbledore.”

“Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, miss. Dobby has heard Dumbledore’s powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength. But, miss”—Dobby’s voice dropped to an urgent whisper—“there are powers Dumbledore doesn’t… powers no decent wizard…”

“I am sure, that with Dumbledore there, I will be safe.” She said insistently. “Now, if you please, Dobby, give me my letters!”

“Miss must promise not to—”

“I promise not to put myself directly in mortal peril, unless otherwise indicated,” She said. “Now. Letters, please?”

Dobby narrowed his eyes but she took the letters and packaging.

“Miss will not put herself in mortal danger?” He asked.

“I will not.”

“So Persephone Potter will not be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year?”

She grimaced, “I did not say that.”

“Miss has tricked me! They talked of your cleverness, too!” He gasped.

“I am so sorry, Dobby. I am—but you don’t understand. I have friends there—I am like a house-elf tied to their family. Hogwarts is my home. Won’t you understand?” She pleaded.

“Persephone Potter has left Dobby no choice.” He said sadly before a loud crack was heard and he was gone. Confused, she wondered what sort of no choice situation this was. Was he going to burn the school down to make her not going?

She returned to the kitchen and stuffed away the letters and such under the sink until she could get them. The coffee was done and she poured out four cups and place them on a silver tray with milk in a matching kettle. Sugar cubes settled on in the middle.

“Why, thank you,” Thomas smiled as he took his cup with milk, no sugar.

“Well, we’ve been trying to adopt for so long now—”

“You and Martha?” Aunt Petunia asked politely but with a suspicious tone.

Oh no.

“No—me and Thomas.”

There was a silence that followed and she was sure that homophobia would sure ensue soon. She quickly said, “I think you two would make wonderful fathers.”

“Oh?”

“Yes—there are some very bad people in the world who do not deserve children but I’m convinced you are not one of them.” She said. “I honestly cannot believe how dysfunctional our government can be, not allowing same-sex couples marriage. It is a human right, after all.”

“Indeed it is,” Ross nodded, looking at her proudly.

“I find that, with the thousands of children in foster cares and orphanages and those starving in under developed countries, we need to take a second look at our ethics and take care of them.”

Thomas looked at her, nodding, before turning to Uncle Vernon, “Well, seeing as you put up a very convincing case and I can see you are a family man, I feel as if though I have no other choice but to order with you.”

“R-really?” His victorious smile ended within seconds as all the color drained from his face as he stared at kitchen.

A sudden crash in the kitchen made them all jump. Persephone, knowing exactly what it was, stood quickly, “Please, excuse that, it must be the, er, cat.”

She wished it was the cat. Instead, she found Aunt Petunia’s masterpiece of a pudding, the mountain of cream and sugared violets, floating up near the ceiling.

On top of the fridge was Dobby, crouched and staring at the dessert. “Dobby!” She whispered. “Please, don’t! They’ll kill me!”

“Persephone Potter must say she’s not going back to school—”

“Dobby…I can’t, I would be lying and I’ve already deceived you once, please don’t—”

Dobby gave her a tragic look.

“Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Persephone Potter’s own good.”

Then, he dropped the pudding.

It only made it an inch away from the floor before Persephone could find it in herself to control the air. Just beneath the pudding, the air had solidified. Her arm stretched out, she tried with much concentration—and stinging—to keep it in the air long enough for her to get it in her hand.

She kneeled down, her arms both now outstretched—it was draining her quicker than usual, now as she felt the resistance—when Uncle Vernon walked in and his eyes widened at the scene. Persephone finally reached out and caught the pudding as the air became normal once more.

“Girl! What was that! That thing!” He hissed to her as she stood. The pudding in her hand was incredibly heavy all of a sudden so she slid it onto the kitchen table.

“A…creature from…my world.”

She was careful with her words and perhaps it wouldn’t have been as bad as it was, until the barn owl swooped in.

She grimaced, glancing up at Uncle Vernon, before taking the letter from the owl.

This was no birthday greeting.

_Dear Ms. Potter,_

_We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine._

_As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school. (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C)._

_We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of Secrecy._

_Enjoy your holidays!_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

_DEPARTMENT OF IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE_

_Ministry of Magic_

Persephone winced looked up from the letter and gulped. Uncle Vernon was still staring at her and she handed him the letter. He read it once through and looked up, considering her. Now he knew she wasn’t allowed magic—he could punish her without worrying the magical consequences.

“You didn’t tell us you weren’t allowed to use magic outside school,” Uncle Vernon said. “You risked being expelled for the deal, did you?”

Confused at where this conversation was heading, she nodded.

He thought for a moment, “Good…very good. Putting family first. You’ve done well this evening—got us the deal from those freaks…I suppose there are worse things to be. But I said no magic in the house—I will not forget this.”

Persephone had no objections to being sent to her room at the end of the night after collecting her packages.

She went to her room and after taking off her dress, heels makeup and jewelry, she placed the letters all down on the bed. She opened the letters first and found Hermione had written to her four times, Ron twelve (which was also how many times he asked her to come over and stay), Fred three times, George five times, Susan four, Cedric Diggory twice, Daphne twice, Diana three times (She was in France for the rest of the summer).

Persephone was very, very happy to find that most of her presents were books. Hermione’s was a book on useful, _Everyday Charms All Witches Should Memorize,_ Susan’s was a pair of new ballet flats, Daphne’s was a pretty brush set made of silver with delicate detailing, and Diana had sent a jewelry box and, of course, an assortment of needles and thread.

Unfortunately, Persephone could not send any thank you notes. All their letters were worrisome, which was very nice after the day she’d just had, but she could not unlock Hedwig to send a letter. She had tried lock picking and had been caught, which is why there are bars on Persephone’s window. It was devastating.

Suddenly, a shadow appeared over her window and she jumped. And then Ron Weasley was outside her window—wait. She ran across the room, tripping over her feet, “Ron!?”

Ron Weasley, freckled, red-haired, long-nosed, Ron Weasley was grinning at her outside Persephone’s window.

“Oh my god,” She breathed. “Ron—how did you—?”

Ron was leaning out of what looked like a car—and actual car—parked in midair. An old turquoise car was parked outside her window and her best friend was grinning at her from inside it. And then—“George! Fred!” They were grinning at her from the front seats.

“All right, Lily?” George grinned.

“What’s been going on?” Ron asked. “You didn’t answer any of our letters, neither Hermione’s and then Dad came home and said you’d got an official warning for using magic in front of Muggles—”

“I didn’t use my magic. How did your dad know?”

“He works for the Ministry,” Ron said. “You know we’re not supposed to do spells outside school —”

“Look who’s talking,” She exclaimed, gesturing to the car.

“Okay, this doesn’t really count because we didn’t enchant it and we’re borrowing it, so.” He said quickly. “But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with—”

“Doesn’t really count if it isn’t my doing,” She said again.

“Does if the Ministry sends a letter,” he countered, “Come on,” He nodded to the car.

She blinked, looking at them, staying where she was, “What…you can’t get me out using magic.”

“Don’t need to,” Fred leaned forward.

“And frankly, I’m offended you’d think we need magic for this,” George grinned at her. She cracked a smile.

“We’ve come to take you home with us,” Ron told her and her heart soared. Her smile widened.

“Okay but the bars—”

“Tie that around the bars,” Fred tossed her the end of a rope and she did as she was told, detailing what would happen if anyone in the house woke up. “Don’t worry,” Fred said, “and pack your things.”

She moved around the room, reaching for different things to shove in her bag messily; her clothes, as well as her books. Just as she had started to stuff her things inside, the car started revving louder and louder and, suddenly, with a crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove straight up in the air. She gaped at them and then smiled. Brilliant boys.

Persephone froze and listened but there was no sound from the Dursleys’ bedroom. She grinned at them as she packed all her new books in, letters and the Dursleys’ present into her bag and turned to Fred, “My trunk is locked downstairs and—”

“Where downstairs?” Fred asked.

“Cupboard under the stairs. There’s a flap under the door but I can’t fit and my abilities aren’t working anymore so I’ll need help.”

“Not a problem, lovely Lily,” George smirked at her but then looked confused, “What abilities?”

She hesitated but said, “Later. I have a bobby pin.”

“You need help—?”

“I’ll come.” George said immediately and climbed almost catlike through her window. There was something thrilling with having George sneak into her room. She raised a brow before turning to lock pick the door. “Nice.” He commented.

She couldn’t tell if he was commenting on the trick or on her bedroom. Either way she rolled her eyes.

They got down the stairs, after George’s little play of, “After you, madam.” She led them quietly down the stairs and to the cupboard under the stairs. This time he picked the lock. In a minute, there was a small click and the cupboard creaked open. He smiled, glancing up at her before freezing in terror, “Woah!”

“Shhh!” She hissed.

“Your eyes!” He whispered. She blinked a few times and glanced in the hallway mirror—her eyes glowed in the dark. George exclaimed, “What the—”

“I’m wearing contacts, hurry up!”

There was only a heave from Uncle Vernon the entire way up to her room. They carried her trunk through her room as she quietly locked the door once more. She put in the jewelry box in her bag and shoved whatever good clothes she had out of her closet.

Standing away, the boys slid the trunk out the window, inch by inch.

Uncle Vernon coughed again. She winced.

“A bit more,” Fred panted, who was pulling from inside the car. “One good push—”

Finally, it slid into the back seat of the car. “Hand your bag,” George said as he pulled himself into the car. She did so and turned to her desk to quickly scrawl onto a paper, _I’ve gone to spend the rest of the summer with my friend, I’ll leave early and I’ll be gone by morning._

George held his hand out and she took it. However, a screech behind her alerted her to the one thing she forgot, halfway through the window. “Hedwig!”

George was the one who maneuvered her. She made a grab for the cage but could only lean as so much to the lock. If she tried any further, she would hurt Hedwig. She pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and pick the lock, reaching farther to do so. She reached out, unlocking the cage and he pulled her back in and she cleared her throat and whistled.

Hedwig came flying out, coming to fly above the car. “Push and pull,” She advised George, who understood. She leaned once very far and grabbed the cage with one swipe, and using the momentum, George was able to pull her back in the same second.

“Okay,” She gasped, adjusting herself. Fred started to drive again as she reached to grab Salem from Ron. “Alright,” She and Ron grinned at each other.

“So, what’s the story, Lily?” Ron finally asked impatiently. “What’s been going on?”

Persephone filled them in on the whole Dobby situation Dobby the house elf situation.

“Fishy,” Fred said, making Persephone snap her head at him before realizing what he meant.

“Very fishy,” George agreed. “He didn’t say anything about who’s supposedly plotting this great mortal danger?”

“Poor bastard wasn’t allowed to, started banging his head on a bench when he tried to.” She said and she noticed the twins share a look. She read their body language easily, “You think he was lying to me,” She said simply.

“Okay, well, no,” Fred said, “Let’s just say that yes, house-elves have got powerful magic but they can usually use it without their master’s permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts. Someone’s idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?”

“Yes,” Ron and Persephone said in unison without a moment to think.

“Draco Malfoy,” Persephone explained, “The kid with I pranked at the beginning of last year? He’s hated me forever.”

“Wait, this would be Draco Malfoy as in” George turned around to look at her, “Lucius Malfoy’s son?”

“I don’t know, is Lucius Malfoy rich, pale, probably albino, and got a look like he’s permanently smelling something bad?” She asked. Fred snorted.

“Should be. Rich, at least.” George said, turning back around. “Dad talks about him. Rumor has it that was a big supporter of You-Know-Who.”

“And then, of course, You-Know-Who disappeared and there were people who came back onto our side,” Fred glanced back at her. “He was one of the first. Claimed he was under the Imperius curse the entire time.” He made a ‘pfft’ sound. 

“One of the Unforgivable Curses?” Persephone raised a brow. “Which one is that again? The…mind control one, right?”

“Right.” Fred nodded, “It’s obviously a load of dung—Dad reckons he was right in You- Know-Who’s inner circle.”

“Yikes,” She said. “Do they have a house-elf?”

“The only people who have house-elves have got to be rich, and this one seems like he’s been in it for the long run, so probably an old wizarding family,”

“Sounds like a Malfoy-esque family,” She said, leaning back on the seat.

“Mum’s always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing,” George said. “All we’ve got is a lousy old ghoul that lives in the attic and then gnomes in the garden that won’t go away.”

Persephone snorted. There was not a doubt in her mind that Draco Malfoy had a house-elf. It only made sense—and the way the poor elf spoke, having been abused. It was just like Malfoy to be cruel to someone weaker and bound to his family name.

“Has anyone got any water?” She spoke up suddenly. She was beginning to ache in the throat.

“Nah, sorry,” Fred said. She frowned and grasped at her throat…ouch. “Glad we came to get you anyway,” He added.

“Yea, we were getting worried when you didn’t answer any of my letters. I thought it was Errol’s fault at first—”

“Errol?”

“Our owl. He’s ancient. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d collapsed on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes—”

“Should I assume the god or—”

“He’s the owl Mum and Dad got Percy when he got made prefect,” Fred piped up. She nodded.

“Anyway, Percy wouldn’t lend because apparently he’s got so many new friends to write to,” George said sarcastically. “Been acting very oddly all summer, hasn’t he? Sending lots of letters, never coming out of his room…I mean, there’s only so many times one can polish a prefect badge without breaking their hand off—you’re driving too far west, Fred,” he added, pointing at a compass on the dashboard. Fred twiddled the steering wheel.

“So, I did not know magical teenager could get driving licenses at such a young age,” She pondered aloud. “Wouldn’t you need both, let’s see, a pilot license, stealing license, driving license…?” She turned to lean forward and stare pointedly at Fred.

He didn’t look at her, “Well, I don’t have that first one—”

“You stole the car?” She groaned. “Why did I not guess sooner? I’m so sleep deprived, holy shit,” She tossed her hair over her shoulder—or she thought. George spat her hair out of his mouth.

“Language.” He noted.

“Will your dad be angry?”

“Well, no, it’s not Dad we’ve got to worry about. It’s Mum who’ll have our heads,” Ron said.

“But, neither will know because we’ll get it back in the garage without anyone noticing it’s gone. Besides, Dad worked tonight.”

“What department is you dad in?” She asked, remembering the letter from the Department of improper use of magic.

“Most boring one,” Ron said, “The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.”

“The what office?”

“It’s all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Listen to this—last year, some old bat died and her some of her shoes were sold in some used collection store or something. Some muggle woman bought them and you can only imagine what happened when she tried to go out dancing in them. It was a nightmare—Dad was working overtime for weeks.”

“Yikes. What happened?”

“Well, the witch who bewitched them was a crazy old coot who was paranoid about everything so she bewitched the shoes to kick and stomp when tapped against the floor. Muggle woman put them on to go dancing and three people had injured feet, one of which had broken three toes. Dad nearly went insane with the work. It’s only him and an old warlock called Perkins in that office and they had all sorts of Memory Charms to do, especially when the shoes got off the woman’s feet and went off on their own.”

“Doesn’t that make this car, er…” She pursed her lips. “Illegal?”

Fred laughed, “Sure does.” Persephone raised her brows. “Dad’s obsessed with anything that has to do with muggles. It drives Mum mad, especially when she found out our shed was mostly made up of muggle things. Too bad she didn’t realize they were all enchanted. He takes it apart, puts spells on it, and puts it back together again, like this car. If he raided our house he’d have to put himself under arrest.”

She giggled lazily. She was so tired. Her voice was growing hoarse from talking—she wanted so badly to drink some water…or to swim in it…to drown in it…

George’s voice snapped her from her daydream. “There’s the main road,” he pointed down to the ground. “Should be another ten minutes…we should hurry to get the car in the garage, it’s getting light out.”

He was right. The sky had broken out in a rosy glow near the east. 

Fred brought the car lower, and Persephone saw a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees.

“We’re a little way outside the village,” said George. “Ottery St. Catchpole.”

The car lowered and lowered, as the sun rose and rose, until they hit the ground with a bump. “Touchdown!” Fred yelled. They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard, and Persephone gazed up at Ron’s house for the very first time.

She imagined originally, it must have been a simple little stone cottage and all the extra rooms added were added recently. It was several stories high, standing crooked and probably only held up by magic. There were four or five chimneys sticking out of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, _THE BURROW._ Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.

“It’s not much,” Ron said as they all got out, a slight undertone of embarrassment in his voice.

She smiled a brilliant smile, “It’s incredible.”

“Alright, Ron, you take Lily to the kitchen and pretend like she just got here while we head upstairs. Mum’ll come down the stairs and be so happy to see Lily she won’t ever need to know we flew the car.” Fred explained quickly.

“Abort mission,” George suddenly said, his eyes fixed on something over Persephone’s head. She turned around, as did the others, and she could understand the need for such a tone.

Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a sabre-toothed tiger.

“Ah,” Fred said.

“Oh, dear,” George muttered.

“Any famous last words, boys?” Persephone asked, suddenly filling with anxiety. It was her fault the boys had pulled of this scheme and this would surely have her kicked out without ever even setting a proper foot onto the property. 

Mrs. Weasley came right up to them, staring up at the boys with her hands on her hips, staring at each of their guilty faces. A wand stuck out of her flowered apron.

Finally, she looked to Persephone, “Ah, hello again Lily, dear. How are you? Please, do walk on up, you are very most welcome here. Help yourself to some breakfast and we’ll be right there, hm?” She smiled nicely, nodding.

Persephone smiled nervously, passing her in smiles. Mrs. Weasley patted her hair once before turning to her sons once more, “So.”

Taking the hint, she walked up the grassy path, glancing back at the boys who looked down at their mother in fear. She was at the door when she heard the first scream,

“YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY’S BOOK!”

The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle. The chair were mismatched. Persephone adored it already but then she caught a sniff of the food cooking and her stomach growled.

She took a seat at the table, looking around. She noticed a clock just opposite to her with only one hand and no number. Written around the edge were things like **Time to make tea,** **Time to feed the chickens** , and **You’re Late**. Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like _Charm Your Own Cheese_ , _Enchantment in Baking_ , and _One Minute Feasts—It’s Magic_! 

Persephone listened to the old radio by the sink announce, “Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck.”

She did not get to properly hear Celestina Warbeck, as Mrs. Weasley came in and started clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as they walked in. Ron took a seat next to her, George on her other side. Every now and then she muttered things like “don’t know what you were thinking of,” and “never would have believed it.”

“I don’t blame you, dear,” Mrs. Weasley smiled warmly down at Persephone as she filled her plate with eight or nine sausages. “You certainly did not ask for three underage, reckless boys to show up at your window in the middle of the night. Arthur and I have been worried about you, of course. We’d said only just last night that if you hadn’t written back to one of my idiot sons,” She glared at them, “We’d come get you ourselves. But honestly,” (she was now adding three fried eggs to her plate) “flying an illegal car halfway across the country—anyone could have seen you—”

Like opening the faucet was, she casually flicked her wand at the sink and the dishes started cleaning themselves, clinking gently in the background.

“It was cloudy, Mum!” Fred said.

“You keep your mouth closed while you’re eating!” Mrs. Weasley snapped.

“They were starving her, Mum!” George said. “They put bars on her windows!”

“You better hope I don’t put bars on your windows!” As she said this, a little figure walked into the room, cried out and ran out.

Persephone jumped, looking at Ron. He shrugged, “Gary. Youngest brother. He’s been talking about you all summer.”

“Reckon he’s got a little crush on you,” Fred said with a grin.

“Who wouldn’t?” George nudged her and she blushed.

She ate her food without speaking—this was the first actual meal she’d had that wasn’t a part of a dinner charade. Mrs. Weasley smiled at her compliment and offered her more, to which Persephone had to tell her, “Oh, I’m not sure I’m able to…I’m not used to eating a full plate, is all.” She was blushing now. “My aunt is very serious about my physique because of dance.”

Mrs. Weasley faltered in her pouring Persephone some juice but continued, “Ah, well, I have heard marvelous things of your dancing—Ron says you’re just a good a dancer as a Seeker. You’re welcome to stay with us for the entirety of the summer, if you’d like. The Diggory’s are not too far from here.”

She smiled shyly, “I should write Cedric a letter, and figure it out. And thank you, again, Mrs. Weasley.”

Mrs. Weasley only smiled warmly, patting her hair. 

“Blimey, I’m tired,” Fred yawned hugely. “I may just go and hit the hay—”

“Oh, I do not think so,” Mrs. Weasley snapped. “It’s no one’s fault but your own that you’ve been up all night. You lot are going to de-gnome the garden for me; they’re getting completely out of hand again—”

“Oh, Mum—”

“I do not want to hear it,” She said before turning to Persephone, “Lily, dear, I’m sure you’re exhausted, I’ll show you to your room and—”

Persephone was quick to offer her help, “I’ll help them—I’m not that tired.”

“Oh, that’s very sweet of you, dear, but it’s dull work,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Now, let’s see what Lockhart’s got to say on the subject—”

And she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece. George groaned.

“Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden —”

Persephone recognized the name as something Susan’s friends had once mentioned. Wasn’t it…Gilderoy Lockhart? She was accurate, as she read the fancy gold title on the book: _Gilderoy Lockhart’s Guide to Household Pests._ On the cover, there was a big photograph of what would be considered a handsome wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. As the pictures in the wizarding world moved, Gilderoy Lockhart kept winking cheekily up at them.

Mrs. Weasley beamed, “Oh he is marvelous, and he really does know his household pests, all right. It’s a wonderful book…”

“Mum fancies him,” Fred whispered very audibly.

“Well, now, don’t be so ridiculous, Fred,” Mrs. Weasley said, though her cheeks flushed. “All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there’s a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it.”

The boys headed out, grumbling and yawning, and Persephone frowned. She’d seen the garden—it was large and was exactly as a garden should be—wild weeds, grass up below her knees and gnarled trees all around the walls, plants she couldn’t identify spilling from every flower bed and a big green pond full of frogs.

She took to helping Mrs. Weasley with the dishes, which Mrs. Weasley found very dear of her. While they worked, she recounted stories of her summer to her questions. Mrs. Weasley listened to her, smiling at her in encouragement every so often. She was just finishing about the Fountain of Neptune when the door opened and in walked a stranger.

Mr. Weasley was a tall, thin man, going bald but the little hair he had was a fiery red. He wore a long green dusty and travel-worn robes. He greeted Mrs. Weasley with a kiss on the cheek, a pat on Persephone’s head, which she thought was odd but then decided he probably mistook her for one of his children, being as she had fiery red hair. He was obviously very tired, as he slumped into a chair, taking his glasses off. He was groping around for the teapot as the boys came in, taking seats all sat around him.

“What a night,” he muttered, “Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned…”

Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed.

“Find anything cool, Dad?” Fred asked eagerly.

“All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle,” Mr. Weasley yawned. “There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn’t my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that’s the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness…”

“Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?” George asked, casting a questioningly look at Persephone. She shrugged, drying a dish.

“Just Muggle-baiting,” Mr. Weasley sighed. “Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it…Hard to convict anyone if no Muggle will confess their keys keeps shrinking. Bless their hearts, Muggles will go far to ignore magic, even if it’s staring them in the face…But the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn’t believe—”

“LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?”

Mrs. Weasley finally said, setting the rag down and Fred and Ron stared in panick while George stared at Persephone. All their eyes had widened, as had Mr. Weasley’s.

He stared guiltily at his wife, gulping nervously, “C-cars, Molly, dear?”

“Yes, Arthur, cars,” Mrs. Weasley said, her eyes flashing. “Can you picture a wizard buying an old, used rusting car and taking it apart to enchant it to make it fly, all while telling his wife it was only to see how it worked. Can you imagine that?” She raised her eyebrows and Mr. Weasley blinked..

“Well, I can tell you right now he, er, ought to have told his wife the truth…but I also imagine that he would be very safe within the law to do so as long as he did not plan to fly it—”

“Arthur Weasley, you made sure to specify that when you wrote that law!” Mrs. Weasley shouted. “Just to carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Lily Potter arrived this morning in the car you weren’t intending to fly!”

“Lily Potter?” Mr. Weasley asked, his eyes widening, “Molly, Lily Potter—”

“Lily Potter’s daughter, then!” Mrs. Weasley said, gesturing to Persephone, who smiled sheepishly and waved.

“Hello,” Her voice was shaking. “Nice to meet you.”

He jumped, flimsily pushing his glasses back up his nose, “Oh! A pleasure to meet you, of course, the boys have told us so much about you—”

“She arrived this morning,” Mrs. Weasley cut him off, “When your sons flew that car to her house all the way to Surrey and back.”

“Did you really?” Mr Weasley asked eagerly, “How did it go? How was the—er, I mean,” His enthusiasm faltered when he met Mrs. Weasley’s eyes, “What were you thinking? That was very wrong of you, boys—very wrong indeed…”

Persephone met Ron’s eyes and his eyes glanced to the stairs and back. She understood what he meant and followed him out. “Let’s leave them to _that_ ,” He whispered.

“It _was_ dangerous.” She told him.

“It was an emergency.” Ron muttered, “Come on, I’ll show you my bedroom.”

Ron led them up down a narrow passageway to a pair of uneven stairs. It wound around the house in a zigzag and he led them off onto the third landing.

“That’s the guest bedroom,” He said. “Nicest in the house, if you ask me.” He opened the door she peered inside.

It was a small bedroom with a large window. There was a large, worn bed that took up most of the space with yellow bedding with small flowers printed on it and several pillows of different sizes, like they were extras from around the house. She glanced out the window—it was a gorgeous view of the orchard. 

They reached a door two flights of stairs later with peeling paint and a small plaque on it, saying _RONALD’S ROOM._

Ron had to duck as he walked in before her, because of the sloping ceiling that Persephone could only reach if she lifted up onto her tiptoes.

Everything inside was a violent shade of orange—the bedspread, walls, ceilings—because of the posters he had up. She recognized them as his Quidditch team, The Chudley Canons, and was smiling to find several of her Christmas gifts up along with them. Ron’s school spellbooks were stacked untidily in a corner, next to a pile of comics that all seemed to feature _The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle_. Ron’s magic wand was lying on top of a fish tank full of frog spawn on the windowsill, next to his fat gray rat, Scabbers, who was snoozing in a patch of sun.

Persephone carefully folded her legs under her on the bed, as not to disrupt the perfectly made bed and glanced around. It was so…cozy. She looked back at Ron, who was watching almost sheepishly.

“Yeah, it’s small,” Ron said quickly, “Nothing like your room—”

“No bars on the window, no seven or so locks on the door and no one discriminating against each other,” She smiled a brilliant smile. “This is the best place I’ve ever been.”

Ron’s ears went pink.

“Besides, I used to sleep in a cupboard under some stairs when I was young so,” She said offhandedly. She did not know this was as very odd as for him to stop and say, with a blank face and a dead voice,

“You slept where now?”


	3. The Other Half of An Amazing Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cedric Diggory, another full moon, Diagon Alley and a strange encounter with a strange piece of jewelry...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready yourselves for a long one...

It seemed so unbelievable that everyone in the house liked her. Except maybe the ghoul in the attic, who howled and dropped pipes whenever he thought things got too quiet. The mirror up above the kitchen mantel place seemed to have it in for Persephone, always calling at her to tie her hair up.

But everyone liked her. She didn’t expect that—Ron, sure, he was her best friend, and the twins, of course, though they were two years her senior—but it was true.

Mrs. Weasley treated Persephone very nicely. It seemed Mrs. Weasley deeply appreciated having a girl in the house and despite living with her aunt, Persephone adored helping Mrs. Weasley. With dinner or little chores, she was appreciated for doing them, something she’d never felt before. In the mornings, when Persephone would appear dressed in a sundress with her hair done in a braid of some sort, Mrs. Weasley would compliment her sweetly, something that made her warm on the inside. She taught her to cook some of the best dishes and never got angry when Persephone did something wrong with the recipe, always helping her correct her mistake.

Mr. Weasley liked Persephone to sit by him at the dinner table to learn as much as he could from her extensive knowledge about the non-magical world. It was very fun to explain to him how plugs worked and how the postal service was successfully a postal service. To think, this time last year, she was thinking the same thing about owl post. She brought out her computer—her new computer, as it turned out the Durlseys had given her—to the delight and joy of Mr. Weasley, and showed him how everything externally worked—mouse and keyboard of course, because it would take a hot minute to explain the inside. Then, she showed him the basic features and he was so amazed, it warmed her. Especially when she showed him one of her downloaded films—“Oh how marvelous! See, Molly—pictures with sound! Oh, I can hear the man talking! How incredible!”—he was endlessly interested in everything she had to say on the subject.

Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Diggory came to a well given compromise of Persephone’s living arrangements—every day at ten, she would be picked up by Cedric and his mum for the dance intensive and be brought back by six. Despite his easy-going attitude and ability to make friends with anyone, Cedric insisted on they’re being each other’s dance partners.

When he first dropped by and they spoke as Mrs. Weasley and his mum arranged things right, he looked as he always did—smiling and handsome.

“Darling, have you given Lily her gift?” His mum interfered as some point and Cedric bloomed red.

“Hermione Granger, your friend, she told me it was your birthday just a while ago and, well I know it’s late, but I got you this,” He handed her a bag, “It’s not wrapped so I don’t think it really counts as a present. I hope it’s alright—I’m not really that well versed in, er, ballerina fashion but my mum, she runs a shop and, I, uh, picked out some things…”

It was a set of pretty wrap skirts, very simply patterns, and several pointe shoe wraps. She hugged him in thanks, complimenting him.

“He fancies you, poor bloke,” Fred snickered, making Ron choke, when the Diggorys dropped her off at the end of the day. She slapped his knee and he threw his arms up, “Don’t be surprised! All dance kids are inbreed.” He winked and she rolled her eyes, grimacing.

“One of your many admirers,” George said.

“Oh please!” She laughed. “Who else is there?” The three exchanged a look and Persephone raised a brow.

“ANYWAY!” George said, “Fred and I have been betting each other on who can throw you highest so would mind if we threw you in the air?”

Persephone tried her best to talk with Gary, who usually froze up whenever she was around.

“So…being the youngest of five brothers must be tough, huh?” She said, trying to start a conversation.

Gary spoke up for the first time, “Six…” His voice broke and he spoke again. “Six brothers.”

“Hm…how old is your oldest brother now?”

“He’s, I think…” He hesitated, nervously thinking, “twenty-two.”

Persephone whistled, “Wow. Eleven years huh? He must have babysat a lot, huh?”

He shrugged, and Persephone could see that he was loosening up slightly, “He did, I guess. He and Charlie both did. Charlie’s twenty.”

“Yeah, he just graduated, what, 2009?” Persephone thought. “You must miss them.”

He hesitated in his nod, but he did nod, “I do. Bill more than Charlie—” He gasped. “Don’t tell anyone I said that!”

Persephone smiled, “Our secret.” Perfect! Already a secret! She held out her pinkie, “I pinkie promise.”

Gary, still blushing, held his pinkie out and they shook. He twisted his mouth to the side, “I think I’ve always been closer to Bill…I was really upset when he left.”

“How old were you?” Persephone asked, genuinely interested what he had to say.

“Nine,” He smiled. “I tried to sneak into his suitcase, so I could go with him but it didn’t work.”

“Aw,” Persephone laughed.

Despite their progress of that morning towards being friends, Gary still accidentally knocked his porridge bowl to the floor with a loud clatter one morning. He was very prone to clumsiness when Persephone happened to be in the room. He had once knocked an entire bookshelf over when she asked for a book—she had taken _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ after having helped pick everything up, pretending like nothing had happened.

He went down to under the table and returned with his bowl, his face a deep red. Persephone pretended as though she didn’t see that.

“Here you are,” Mr. Weasley passed Persephone a thick envelope addressed to her in green ink with the Hogwarts crest. The weekends were the only days she was not to be expected to go to dance. “Of course, Dumbledore knowns you’re here—doesn’t miss a trick, that man. You three’ve got them, too,” He added as Fred and George stumbled into the kitchen, looking tired and disheveled. With them was Ron, who had terrible bedhead. Persephone snorted under her breath at the looks of them.

Persephone turned to open her letter and read quietly through its contents; it was just like it had been first year, with her ticket for the Hogwarts Express, a welcoming letter from Professor Minerva McGonagall and then, the list of new books she would require.

She read through them and found that the list was longer than usual. She noticed immediately that there was more added towards DADA but also an extra two pieces of parchment that listed things she would need given her acceptance into both Potions Club and Charms Club. She smiled widely—and then her smile faltered. She wished dearly that these clubs would not interfere with dance or Quidditch.

George came around to peer over her shoulder, and compared the two lists, “You’ve got all of Lockhart’s books, too!” He said. “Bet you a galleon the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is a witch

“No betting, George,” Mrs. Weasley tutted, placing a plate of toast in front of Persephone.

Persephone turned to look up at George, who was leaning on the back of her chair, reading over her shoulder, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I _mean_ that his only fans are witches,” He said. She scowled. “You’re smart, you’re not head over heels for a pretty face—but most witches are.”

“That’s not true, George,” She rolled her eyes. “Men can like other men’s work too. And besides, he doesn’t seem like just a pretty face with all that he’s done. Banshees, ghouls, hags, trolls, vampires, werewolves and yetis, by the looks of it. Can you handle all that?”

“I handled that troll last year,” He said smartly and she gave him a look of ‘alright go away’. He smirked.

Fred, who had finished his own list, pondered out loud, “This lot won’t come cheap,” He glanced at his parents. “Lockhart’s books are really expensive…”

“Well, we’ll manage,” said Mrs. Weasley, but she looked worried. “I expect we’ll be able to pick up a lot of Gary’s things second-hand.”

Percy was walked in, dressed with his Hogwarts prefect badge pinned to his sweater vest. “Morning, all,” Percy sighed, smiling at them cheerfully. Fred and George stared in confusion, “Lovely day.”

As he sat, he stood up quickly—he pulled something off his chair, something of a molting, gray color, breathing heavily.

“Would that be the famous Errol?” Persephone asked Ron as she took her seat. Ron took the owl from Percy and snatched the letter from under his wing.

“Yeah—finally. He’s got Hermione’s letter!” He said. “I wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue you from the Dursleys.” He met his mother’s eye and took to opening the letter in mild embarrassment.

He handed Hermione’s letter to Persephone so he could go sit Errol up on a perch just inside the back door, failing as the owl flopped straight off again. She ripped the letter open as he lay his owl on the draining board instead, muttering, “Pathetic.”

“ _Dear Ron, and Lily if you are there_ ,” Persephone read, “ _I dearly hope everything is alright and that Lily is okay,--_ I wrote to her when I first got here,” She said in confusion, looking at Ron.

“Errol is not the fastest,” George commented.

She continued, “… _and I hope you did not do anything illegal. Please do let me know if Lily is alright, as I’ve been very worried about her_.” Persephone looked up, “Aw, she’s so sweet.” She continued, “ _I’m very busy with schoolwork, of course—”_

“How!?” Ron asked in horror, “We’re on break!”

Persephone frowned, “We have homework, Ron.”

“We do!?” Mrs. Weasley looked sternly at Ron, who was so confused. “It’s too early in the morning for this.” She set down eggs in front of Ron and Persephone continued.

“—and we’re going to London next Saturday to buy my new books. Why don’t we meet in Diagon Alley? Let me know what’s happening as soon as you can. Love from Hermione.” She folded the letter back up.

“Well, that fits in nicely, we can go and get all your things then, too,” Mrs. Weasley said, smiling at Persephone as she started to clear the table, “What’re you all up to today?”

They were planning on playing Quidditch, though Mrs. Weasley sent Ron up to his room to do his homework instead. George whispered, “Poor kid.” And she elbowed him.

“Have you been following Oliver’s training program every day, then, while I’ve been gone?” She asked. There was a small paddock that the Weasleys owned, surrounded by trees that blocked it from view of the village below. As long as they did not fly too high, they could practice Quidditch up there.

He straightened, “Like it is a law.”

Persephone frowned, “You break laws.”

“Oh my g—Persephone. Can you be cool? Just this once? Just be cool? Just this once?” He asked and Persephone laughed.

“Very funny, Georgie.”

He winked dramatically and Persephone snorted. Five minutes later, they were marching up the hill, broomsticks in hand. They couldn’t use real Quidditch balls, because it would have been hard to explain if they had escaped and flown away over the village; instead they threw apples for one another to catch. She’d leave her Nimbus Two Thousand in their care during the weekdays and found it smelled like apples.

“Have you noticed how weird Percy’s been acting?” Fred asked as they finished a game.

Persephone assumed he meant because Percy wouldn’t come play a game with them. “Well, I didn’t think him much of a Quidditch player so.”

“No, I mean,” Fred said, “His exam results came this morning and he hasn’t been gloating at all.”

“Maybe he didn’t do well?” Persephone suggested, already knowing that was impossible.

George snorted, “Try twelve O.W.L.s.”

Persephone whistled, “That’s…do you think he’s in any sort of trouble?”

“Trouble?” The twins looked at her. “If you mean like fairy dust, he’s not the type.”

“Fairy dust?” Persephone snorted before realizing they weren’t kidding. “Okay…”

“Bill got twelve and he isn’t like Percy at all and he gloated—he’ll be head boy next year for sure, which will make mum all the more pressuring to have us made prefect, which makes no sense because there is only one of us who can be a prefect…” George sighed, staring up at the sky. He was sitting on his broomstick, one foot on the handle, so he could lean his arm against his knee.

She frowned, “You don’t need to be prefects to be recognizable as brilliant,” She told them, throwing both legs over one side of the broom. “You two are ingeniously funny—notice my use of ingeniously,” She told them, smiling.

“If any of us will end up prefect, it’ll be you,” Fred told her, “Honestly, I have no idea how we’re friends with you being _such_ a rule follower.”

Persephone tilted her head back in insulted disbelief, “Well, _I_ didn’t fly the car.” Fred smiled, though his eyes were closed.

“Dunno how Mum and Dad are going to afford all our school stuff this year,” George said after a long little innovation with their brooms—flying their brooms slightly apart so they could stretch their legs out as they hung over their broom handles, their necks resting on the handles. George and Persephone were facing the same direction, Fred in between them facing the opposite direction. “Five sets of Lockhart books! And Gary needs robes and a wand and everything…”

Persephone did not know how to answer so she said nothing. Known between her and the goblins at Gringotts bank, she had a vault store deep underground. She had inherited not only a large fortune but two houses and several other mysteries in vault 687. Not only that but with the few jobs she had done since she was young around her neighborhood, she also had money in the non-magical world as well.

She thought if any money should belong to a magic name, it should be the Weasley name.

“Would your parents have a fit if I, I don’t know, payed for it?” She asked casually. Fred snorted. 

“Yes and yes.” He said. “Anyone feel like a swim?”

“Absolutely,” Persephone said before she could stop herself. Truth be told, her legs were itching for a swim—question was, would she have legs in the water?

Ron was done his homework and cheerfully agreed to the swimming. Persephone knocked on Percy’s door on her way to Gary’s room and he denied the invitation.

She dug around her trunk before she found her bathing suits and chose the one piece that hugged her body more comfortably. It was a deep V-necked bathing suit, with blue stripes over a white going down and it was almost backless. She was examining herself in the mirror, turning from side to side when Gary walked in, looking for Ron. She didn’t notice him at first, as he was silent.

Persephone looked up and smiled at Gary, who was staring. “You want to join us? We’re going swimming.”

“Um…”

Gary ended up not wanting to come.

Mrs. Weasley trusted Persephone with the picnic basket with their lunch in it and she made her promise to eat all her food. It seemed all her attempts at feeding her worked. She had filled out.

The four set out, marching in the scorching sun, “So where’s this lake?”

George said, “Not far—it’s not as big as the one near the Diggory’s and Lovegood’s but it’s more shaded and big enough for a good few games of Sirens and Sailors.”

She sputtered, “What and Sailors?

“It’s a game—there’s a siren that has to chase down the sailors and drown them. Not actually drown them but just hold them underwater for five seconds at least. The sailor then becomes the siren and the siren is the sailor and so on.”

Persephone had blanked.

“Sounds…”

“Dangerous?”

Persephone laughed nervously. Upon coming close enough, George yelled, “Last in is the siren!”

The Weasleys took off running, dropping their towels and leaving Persephone in the dust. She was reluctant…what if she sprouted a tail?

There was a chorus of splashes and laughter and Persephone was left behind with the towels and picnic basket with the food.

“Ha, Lily’s the siren!” Fred shouted.

He had no idea.

She frowned. George saw this.

“Oh, no, no, no! Don’t chicken out now because you’re the siren!” George called out, wiping hair out of his face.

“I’m not—!”

“BOOOOOOO!” Fred called and Persephone rolled her eyes, and laid out the blanket before dropping her shoes and making her way slowly to the water. The lull was back and she dove in.

She emerged, Persephone feeling satisfied. George and Fred were out of the water, shouting, “CANONBALL!” Causing a ruckus of splashing. Persephone, to avoid this, ducked under the water. She had no gills, but being under the water didn’t cause her lungs to burn.

She smiled, ducking in and out of the water. Fred saw her mischievous smile and started yelling. As everyone started panicking, she ducked under the water and found she was very quick, moving with the waves created. She pulled Fred down first and he gasped as he came up.

The game went and went until George was made siren. He was targeting Persephone and the next thing she remembered was Mr. Weasley kneeling before her, staring worriedly at Persephone. She blinked once more, and then again. Slowly, the room came into focus and she could only make out the blurry shapes of the Weasleys. Ron was sitting by her, staring at her. Gary was standing with his mother, crying. George was sitting in front of her and Fred and Percy were staring in horror at her.

Her hands felt sticky and she looked down, distressed to find blood in both of them. George was quick to tell her it was his blood, not hers, but this only made her worse—he had been holding both her hands and she had squeezed them so hard, too hard, that they broke skin and were now bleeding profusely.

It took a long hour of stress—George explained in a calm and slow voice that she had stepped on some glass that was in the water and she had started screaming, terribly screaming and the water reacted to her screaming and tried drowning everyone. He had pulled her out but she was catatonic and unconscious and he performed CPR on her, but when she woke up, she was only catatonic. Mrs. Weasley had cleaned the glass but realized quickly that Persephone had gone unresponsive and, in panic, called Mr. Weasley and pulled him out of work. She’d been catatonic for a straight hour while they tried to sort out what had happened. The boys had explained but in complete confusion to why any of that had happened.

When she was drinking tea and trying desperately to block out the harsh emotions, Mr. Weasley sat down with her. “Persephone, please do be honest with me.”

She nodded, trembling.

“What you just had, do you know what it’s called?”

Her voice broke and she sniffed, looking away. She shook her head, afraid of speaking.

“I believe, to my short knowledge, that it may have been a panic attack.” He said and, answering her confusion, he continued, “You see, panic attacks come in very different symptoms and that was a catatonic symptom. Has this ever happened to you before?”

She shrugged and he nodded, “Fred…told me, and I hope you won’t hold it against him, but he told me that you had a panic attack in school, a few short months ago?”

She nodded, “It didn’t feel the same though.”

“I would assume not.” He pursed his lips, searching for his words. “May I ask you to let me know if another panic attack happens while you are here?”

She nodded, and he patted her shoulder.

The rest of the day was spent quietly—everyone seemed not to want to trigger another, er, episode (?) so her day was spent with the boys. She helped Ron every time he came in with a question about homework and then she helped Ron through his remaining homework.

Then, after dinner, Persephone sat on her bed, brushing out her wet hair. She thought a shower would help but she still felt terrible. Someone knocked and called, “Come in.”

It was George. He looked guilty, his shoulders slumped forward, “Hey.”

“Hi,” She dropped her hands from her hair.

“Mind if I…?” He was gesturing to the bed and she nodded. He came slowly, hesitantly and sat on the very edge, as if he were nervous. “I…I just wanted to say that I’m…sorry.”

Persephone frowned, “For what?”

“I know I was playing too rough and I didn’t mean to, and I’m really sorry. You’re my friend and I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He said, his face pale and his eyes sullen.

She smiled lightly, “It wasn't your fault. Truly, you didn’t know. I appreciate your apology though, however unnecessary,” She punched his shoulder jokingly.

“It was…it was scary, you know? Seeing you like that—I mean, I thought you had gone into an open-eyed coma.” He laughed nervously. She smiled weakly again and leaned into him, in a hug. They hugged for a moment and she felt a warming feeling in her chest. He sighed deeply into her hair.

“I’d say get a room, but Mum would have all our heads,” Someone said. They jumped apart, and saw Fred at the doorway. George flung off the bed, standing awkwardly before bidding her a red-faced goodnight. He darted past Fred and Fred started grinning. “That kiss flare up some feelings, did it?”

As always, he found the joke in things. She rolled her eyes, “CPR doesn’t count as a kiss.”

“If you say so,” His joking manner falter, “Alright, Lils?”

“Yes,” She smiled at him.

He nodded, smiling at her once more, “Goodnight, Lils.”

“Goodnight Freddie.”

It was most certainly not a good night. She was unable to sleep. She was hyperactively aware of every sound in the house. It was as if he hearing had gone into overdrive. 

Everything around her registered with her—the ghoul in the attic, every creak of movement in the rooms around in the house—Percy was still up, she could hear a quill scratching out something on parchment. Ron was finally asleep. Then—Fred, she could tell was asleep. George, however, was not.

Suddenly, George became the apple of her eye and she listened to his breathing. He was conflicted, this much she could feel from him—she could feel a lot, as she lost her ability to logically think and he was lost. But, beyond that, she could feel his blood pulsing through his veins—she could feel his heart beating. A sudden wringing sensation in her hands made her want to pull her fingers through his hair, to count every freckle out and to memorize the exact color of his eyes, to taste his blood—she snapped upright, feeling a sudden tightening in her throat, making her unable to breath properly.

She looked around wildly and her vision blurred, in and out. She couldn’t see properly but she could definitely feel. She was trying so desperately to blink away the blurriness that slowly, slowly she felt the stickiness on her legs again. Slowly, focusing in and out and when she looked down, throwing the blanket off her, her legs were red.

She stared and her inability to breath finally caught up—she choked, finally drawing in a breath—was that her first breath of the hours that had gone by? Her breathing elevated and she could finally hear the chaos that ensued around her—every heartbeat, every pulse of blood, every delicious pulse of life that filled the bodies in the house. She had every intent to hurt the men in this house, safe for Gary—was there an age limit for sirens?

A sudden crack brought her senses back to the bed and she tossed her legs over—she needed water.

She made her way silently out the door but she did not go downstairs—she headed upstairs, to the room above hers. She was reaching for the door knob, listening to the breathing, when suddenly she saw her hands—her fingers looked longer, with long, sharpened nails. She realized quickly what was probably happening and, almost hissing at the pain that shot up her legs, she stumbled through the house, out the backdoor. The same harrowing, tearing feeling came to her legs and she collapsed from the sudden, blinding white pain that shot up her legs. It felt like she had broken her bones, over and over and she started running, jumping half the way. 

She clawed into the ground, pulling her broken legs behind her. She felt a sting by her hair roots and cried out as her red curls turned white and silvery. She struggled, her body on fire and her legs heavier and heavier—there was no resisting the change when she caught a glimpse of her reflection and saw her glowing eyes and when she felt pins and needles in her mouth—then she had dove in.

She felt herself break and snap—she screamed into the water, struggling. She felt her bones break, her spine snap all the way up and she couldn’t control her screams anymore. Her legs were no longer legs—they broke and fused together, and she was a mermaid. 

Fucking bitch.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Persephone didn’t think she slept. She had her arms folded on the shore, over several pebbles and rocks and sticks and it was rather uncomfortable. Her hair swirled in the water around her, and she could tell there was mud caked in it. Her body ached and her mind was afloat and she couldn’t keep from shivering, waiting for it to be over.

“You’ve got something in your hair,” A dreamy voice said. She had just realized she was resting not on the dirt ground but on a rock and that’s what was so uncomfortable. The rock was on the edge of the shore and she was trying hard to open her eyes. They stung in the air when she did open them and when she finally registered the voice was not a voice she recognized, she had opened her eyes. 

Quickly, on instinct, she pulled down into the water, staring wildly at whoever it was that had suddenly appeared.

She was young, from what Persephone could tell from the voice, and she was sitting by the shore, her legs crossed open with a book in her lap. She was barefoot. Her hair was woven from golden sunlight and her skin was glowing due to the sun filtering in behind her. Persephone stared for a long moment, wondering if it were an angel visiting her—had she died?

“I can pick it out of your hair, if you’d like,” She offered. She did not seem frightened by Persephone’s presence, nor surprised. Simply relaxed and casual. Not indifferent—just relaxed. Almost…ethereal?

Slowly, Persephone swam forward and maybe she was disoriented, but she let the girl pick out a twig that had stuck to Persephone hair. She looked at the twig before putting it behind her own ear. Persephone stared.

“What are you reading?” She asked, noticing the strange looking at the magazine in her hands.

The girl held it up and Persephone had to squint to read out the title, ‘The Quibbler’. She nodded, not knowing what to say. She felt so disoriented…

“You shouldn’t squint,” She told Persephone wisely. “It makes it easier for Wrackspurts to get in.”

Persephone stared at her before nodding, “Of course…”

The girl stared at her for a moment, before stating simply, “You’re a mermaid.”

“Um…”

“Mermaids don’t inhabit these waters. You must not be from around here,” She said and Persephone nodded slowly. “You’re a witch.”

Persephone did not know if she should simply dive back into the water but the sun seemed fairly early and as her logical brain started to come into play—the Weasleys would be up soon. She swam away, making a movement to push herself out of the water.

Of course, this is when she realized that she was naked. At the moment, however, she was half fish but the human part was most definitely naked. The girl noticed her embarrassment immediately but only smiled, “I can see the Narlges got to you.”

The girl got up and held out the blanket she was sitting on—sitting on without having unfolded it, she was just sitting on a folded blanket. She put it by Persephone, close enough for Persephone to grab it. She didn’t move however so the girl moved away. Persephone reached for the blanket as the girl stared up at the birds, as if she were more interested in those than the half-fish girl in the water.

The girl said, “My name is Selene Lovegood.” She narrowed her eyes at the girl, shifting to push herself to stand behind the rock, only seeing the girl if she wanted to. “I like my middle name too,” She continued. “Luna…I think I will introduce myself as Luna Lovegood instead…”

Persephone hoisted herself up on the rock, so to be away from the water. She needed human legs to get places. With the blanket wrapped around her, she felt herself become cold before she gasped, feeling bones cracking in her legs.

She curled her legs—fish tail?—before she lost her breath as her bones broke—bloody hell—holy god—and then she had legs. Sore, aching, bruised legs, but legs. She was very cold now, shivering and now even more naked.

Persephone shivered awkwardly in the blanket, her hair dripping.

They looked at each other, the girl hummed, smiling like she was coming from a faraway dream. Persephone tried speaking, “Do you want your blanket back?”

“You can keep it but be warned,” She said seriously, “It’s charmed—keep away gulping plimpies.”

“Oh?” Persephone was so confused.

“It’s woven with Gurdyroot extract.” She smiled. “You might need it, in the water.”

She had just now smelled the pungent odor of the green blanket and forced herself to breathe from her mouth. Trying her best not to let the soreness overpower her legs, she stood up.

“Goodbye,” She told Luna Lovegood but was not sure if she had heard her.

When they came into view of the house, she saw three tall boys out throwing what looked like a Quidditch ball.

“Oh, hey!” Cedric called, waving at her before immediately being hit by the Quaffle. Poor Cedric. “Lily, good morning!”

She smiled with her lips. He bent over in pain, holding his nose and Cedric stumbled a few steps to smile at her.

“Is your mum up?” She asked the twins.

“Nah,” Fred said, catching the Quaffle. “Why are you wrapped in a blanket?”

“Irrelevant,” She said.

George asked, “Where did you go?”

“The moon.”

He stared at her, narrowing his eyes and then grinned, “And you didn’t wake me?”

She tried her best at smiling, “What time is it?”

“Time for Quidditch, go get dressed,” Fred said.

“I need to send an owl to Oliver Wood and make sure he’s alive because you seem to be channeling his spirit,” She muttered.

She collapsed on her bed, wondering if she ought to amputate her legs. She could probably send an owl to Ben, to ask him to amputate her legs. She imagined how the conversation would go—he would ask if a mermaid were to cut their legs off, would they still have a tail? She’d assure him they would find out. She was sure she could convince him it would be in the name of science.

Her legs were painfully sore so even getting dressed was terrible. She did the routine Oliver had them do with the boys and then collapsed next to Cedric. Cedric sat by her and glanced at her several times.

Finally, she caught his eye and before he could look away, she was smiling. He flushed, again running his hand through his hair and smiled back. For as much time as they spent together he didn’t seem to get any less nervous at her presence. Her discomfort seemed to melt away as she realized he was just as awkward as her—and he was adorable.

He seemed embarrassed, “Oliver Wood is really enthusiastic about Quidditch, huh? With all this, er, summer training.” He commented.

She scoffed playfully, “You have no idea. Run in the morning, run in the evening, fly at least twice a day, twenty jumping jacks, push-ups, sit-ups, lunges, squats every day but double it each day and he says he’ll know if we don’t,” She leaned back on the grass. Cedric laughed loudly. “He sent a letter like, a week ago that says he did research and that we need to start hyping ourselves up in the mirror—”

“To further drive you lot insane?” Cedric suggested artfully and she snorted.

“To build confidence in our Quidditch skills and to convince ourselves that dying in the name of winning that cup is an honorable way to go,” He burst into laughter and she even managed a laugh, despite her lungs dying, “And crazily enough,” She said, out of breath, “I’ve really started to believe it!”

“Oh jeez—Quidditch does not get more intense than that…” Cedric trailed off. “I went to the Quidditch World Cup some years ago, and…you’ll think you haven’t properly watched Quidditch after seeing it.” He exhaled a long breath, a far-away look in his eyes.

“Quidditch World Cup?” She asked, raising a brow. “Is that anything like World Series Cup?”

He sat up eagerly, “It’s better—it’s international Quidditch played by some of the best Quidditch players of this century—it been held every four years since 1473 and it can go on for days,”

“Woah.”

He nodded enthusiastically, “I know. Last one ended up lasting five days. America participated with Brankovitch the third as their captain, which he is known to be the best in American history, right? But they didn’t make it close to getting into the finals—Canada ended up beating Scotland 270 to 240. It was…incredible.” He flushed once more and cringed, “Sorry, I’m…I’m rambling.”

Truthfully, she was zoning out, but she waved her hand, “Don’t be sorry—I love hearing about Quidditch—I wish I could go see a Quidditch game like that.” She sighed wistfully.

“Next one is in two years, you might get lucky,” He shrugged, a goofy looking smile playing on his lips.

“You know, you’re almost as enamored with Quidditch as Oliver is…” She bit back a smile, “I don’t remember—do you play for Hufflepuff?”

His mood suddenly shifted, “No…no, I don’t play—don’t get me wrong, I love Quidditch, I just have…other…priorities…”

“Dance…?” She asked, hoping this wasn’t stepping over a line.

He nodded, “Mum really wants me to become a professional.”

“You certainly dance like a professional.” She complimented.

Now he was really red. What was he red about? Was he wearing makeup? He was rather pretty.

She changed the subject, “I have ADHD and dance really helped with regulating my hyperactivity. It’s going to be hard to balance Quidditch, dance and all the clubs I’m in this year.”

As was true to the spirit of dancers, she started stretching on the grass wit Cedric, which made Fred and George competitive in who could stretch farther. Most obviously, they got nowhere.

“If you were to run at him, would he catch you?” Fred asked out of ear shot.

Instead of answering, she ran at Cedric. Surprised, he fell into instinct and caught her before pulling off half a Cheshire cat lift. It wasn’t a full one as when he tossed her up into the splits, he kept both hands on her.

“Bloody hell, dancers are a different breed,” Fred muttered, causing her to laugh and lose balance and this was how they both landed in the grass.

When Saturday morning came, Persephone woke up to the twins standing over her.

“Would you choose dance over Quidditch?”

“Ugh, go away,” She said.

Again, at breakfast, they stared her down after asking the question again. She was eating a bacon sandwich, enjoying it too, and just wanted to eat and not have to deal with this.

She stared but said nothing.

“Lily?” Fred’s voice was breaking.

“I’m gonna go upstairs and see if my uniform still fits,” She said simply, leaving the table. This was a lie, being as she had tried it one last night.

She ran into Gary, whom she greeted nicely. She grinned at him, “Excited for getting your wand?”

Gary nodded vigorously, blushing red, “Absolutely—Charlie promised to teach me the Bat-Bogey Hex as soon as possible. It’s a Weasley special.”

Ben's eyes widened, “Sounds…like it should be a Weasley special.”

Persephone dressed in a black skirt and white, sleeveless blouse. She pulled her hair up and stared at the mirror for a moment and concentrated hard—her hair straightened and pulled back in a half up do bun. She spun once and found her look satisfying. 

“We’ll have to buy some more today, Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley sighed, peering down into the flowerpot she had took off the kitchen mantelpiece. “Guests first! After you, Persephone!”

She looked into the flowerpot to see it was filled with glittery powder of a green color. She stared at it before slowly looking up, “Am I…supposed to snort it or…?” She was genuinely confused.

“She’s never traveled by Floo powder,” Ron said suddenly, looking apologetically at Persephone. “Sorry, Lils, I forgot.”

“But how did you get to Diagon Alley last year if not by floo powder?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“With the Underground.”

“Did you really?” Mr. Weasley asked eagerly, “Tell me—are there escapators down there? Tell me precisely—”

“Not now, Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley interrupted. “Now, dear, it’s quite faster to travel by Floo powder but perhaps we should find—”

“Oh, she’ll be fine, mum!” Fred waved his hand. “Honestly—Lily, watch us first.”

Fred took just a pinch of the powder with his index finger and thumb and chucked the powder into the flames, and Persephone watched in amazement as the fire grew to be higher than Fred, an emerald green flame now. She briefly recalled the campfire in Percy Jackson before she gasped as Fred walked right into the green flames and shouted, “Diagon Alley!” and vanished.

George, seeing her mouth drop and her eyes widened, snickered and winked as he dipped his fingers into the flowerpot.

“Be sure to speak very, very clearly, dear, else you’ll pop out the wrong grate,” Mrs. Weasley told her as she watched with fascination as George vanished too.

“How will we know which one is the right grate?” Persephone asked nervously, her palms starting to clamp up. She started to feel her breath elevate.

“Well, there are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, you know, but as long as you’ve spoken clearly—”

“She’ll be fine, Molly, don’t fuss,” Mr. Weasley insisted, taking his turn in reaching into the flowerpot.

“Oh, but dear, if she got lost, I’m sure her aunt and uncle would be very upset!” She said.

“Oh, no, they would definitely not mind,” Persephone rambled nervously. “Honestly, the amount of times they had me stick my hand in the fireplace for fun would be ironic should I end up lost up a chimney—” She laughed nervously, staring at the green flames.

“The amount of times they did what?” Ron asked blank faced.

Mr. Weasley patted Ron’s shoulder twice and stepped forward, and he, too vanished. Persephone dragged herself forward and pinched a bit of Floo powder between her fingers and stepped towards the fire.

“Now, remember to say where you are going nice and clear, else you’ll end up actually stuck up a chimney,” Mrs. Weasley advised. “And remember to keep your eyes shut, otherwise the soot will get in your eyes.”

“Keep your elbows tucked in—don’t fidget, either, or you might fall out of the wrong fireplace —”

“But don’t panic and get out too early; wait until you see Fred and George.” Mrs. Weasley offered and this made no sense, as she said to keep her eyes closed. Persephone, too nervous to say anything, threw the powder into the flames and stepped in as emerald flames engulfed her.

She opened her mouth and immediately breathed in a lot of hot ash as she coughed, “Diagonally.”

She knew she was not ever travelling by Floo powder if she had the choice not to ever again when all she could see was green. It was like being flushed down the toilet, spinning very fast with the roar of fire in her ears. She saw the blur of what looked like rooms and fireplaces but at some point she couldn’t really focus on any of them. She tried to keep from fidgeting but she, at some point, felt her stomach turn over and her nose sting and she sneezed, loudly, and fell onto a cold stone floor.

She lay, dizzy and bruised (probably) and very really dirty, alone in a place that she did not recognize. Brushing herself off, she got to her feet and blinked. Where was she? Nowhere she ought to be, that for sure. She was in a dimly lit shop and she was sure, by looking out through the dusty shop window, that she was not in Diagon Alley.

A glass case nearby glinted with a withered hand on a cushion, a bloodstained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling.

No…definitely not Diagon Alley…

She decided to get out of there as soon as possible.

The decision, however, was over-ruled by the person who took pleasure in Persephone’s frustration—Draco Malfoy was walking down the narrow, dark street outside the shop.

She reacted accordingly, and she ran for it. She slipped into a large black cabinet nearby, closing it behind them. She waited, breathing silently when a mere few seconds later, she heard the bell above a door clang and footsteps following immediately after.

She stood on her tiptoes to see and saw a tall figure follow Draco. This must be Draco’s father—he had the same pale, pointed face and identical glinting, emotionless grey eyes. He would have been handsome, had it not been for the look on his face that suggested he thought he was better than everyone and anyone.

“Touch nothing, Draco,” Lucius Malfoy told his son sternly as Draco took an interest in an item on display.

“I thought you said you were going to buy me a present,” He said. Persephone rolled her eyes; who would want a present from _here_?

Mr. Malfoy crossed the shop, looking lazily at the items on display, and rang a bell on the counter before turning to his son and saying, “I told you I would buy you a racing broom.”

“What’s the good of a racing broom if I’m not even on the House team?” He asked miserably. “Persephone Potter’s got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year, with special permission from Dumbledore so she can play…she’s just famous, that’s all. Not any good at the game…didn’t even know about it before last year…” He spat in frustration.

She stumbled in surprise at her name mentioned and hoped she hadn’t made a noticeable noise. She peered again through the cracks. Malfoy was bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls.

“…and everyone thinks she’s so smart, with her stupid wand tricks and her scar and her broomstick—”

“You have told me this at least a dozen time already, Draco,” Mr. Malfoy said, casting a long look at his son. “And I have told you just as many times that it may be more prudent for you to put an effort into befriending the girl rather than openly abhorring her…” He paused, “Perhaps it is as your mother says—”

“I most certainly do not _fancy_ her!”

“Ah, Mr. Borgin.”

A stooping man had just now appeared behind the counter, smoothing his overly grease hair back, a smile playing on his lips that sent shivers up and down Persephone spine. She put a hand over her mouth to stop her from breathing so freaking loudly.

“Mr. Malfoy, it is a pleasure to greet you again,” His voice was as oily as his hair, “Delighted—and the young Master Malfoy, too—charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced—”

“I’m not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling,” Mr. Malfoy stopped him.

The smile faded from Mr. Borgin’s face and Persephone had tighten her grip on Hades. “Selling?”

“I assume you have heard of the raids that the Ministry is ordered to conduct,” Mr. Malfoy said, pulling a roll of parchment from an inside pocket. He unravelled it for Mr. Borgin to read. “And I find that I am in possession of a few—ah—items at home that would be embarrassing if the Ministry were to call.”

Mr. Borgin fixed a pair of pince-nez to his nose and looked down the list.

“The Ministry wouldn’t presume to trouble you, sir, surely?”

Mr. Malfoy’s lip curled, “I have yet to be visited. The Malfoy name still commands a certain amount of respect but the Ministry still grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act—no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it—”

Persephone felt that it best she was hiding and not out in the open because she was not too sure she would not start swinging.

“—and, as you can well see, a number of these poisons may make it appear as though—”

“I understand, sir, of course,” Mr. Borgin said quickly. “Let me see…”

“Can I see that?” Draco interrupted, his eyes fixated on the withered hand on its cushion.

Mr. Borgin smiled excitedly, “Ah, the Hand of Glory!” Abandoning the list, he scurried over to Draco. “Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir.”

“I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin,” Mr. Malfoy said coldly, and Mr. Borgin said quickly, “No offense, sir, no offense meant—”

“Though if his grades don’t pick up,” Mr. Malfoy continued, “I don’t know if I should expect him to turn out as much else but a—”

“It isn’t my fault,” Draco retorted. “I’ve told you that Persephone Potter gets all she wants by being famous and that Hermione Granger is a teacher’s pet—”

“I would have thought you’d be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam,” snapped Mr. Malfoy.

Persephone could cheer at the look on Draco’s face. It was satisfying to see Draco look both angry and abashed.

“It is the same all over,” Mr. Borgin said with his oily voice. “Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere—”

“Not with me,” Mr. Malfoy said.

“Of course not, sir, nor with me, sir,” Mr. Borgin said with a deep bow. “I must also mention, sir, how honorable it is for your recent addition to the family—”

“He is a mere nephew, Borgin, no addition,” Mr. Malfoy said as coldly as ever. A nephew? Should she feel bad for whoever was related to Draco Malfoy or should she feel just as disgusted by them? “Now, perhaps we can return to my list. I am in something of a hurry, Borgin.”

While they haggled, Persephone watched Draco roam the shop, coming closer and closer to her hiding spot. His eyes would draw right on her red hair though the crack and she was sure he could recognize it immediately. He turned away, his back to hew now, examining what looked like a long hangman’s rope. He read the card propped on a magnificent necklace of opals, _Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed— Has Claimed the Lives of Nineteen Muggle Owners to Date._

Silently, she let the cabinet door close and she winced at the creak it made. She was surely done for now.

She felt a cold sensation as she leaned back at the end of the cabinet and suddenly the wall gave out and she fell back with a gasp.

She was immediately made aware to the fact that she was in a different place altogether. She wasn’t sure how—it was dusty here, too, and very cold. Every time she breathed, she had to cough up dust. It was dark, with some light filtering in somewhere far above her head.

She was in a room, a great room, with towering bookshelves cluttered with heavy, ancient looking books, in a manner that would make Hogwart’s librarian, Ms. Pince, shudder. She looked around, afraid of taking a step and being lost. She had read of hidden places that, should you take too big a step, you’d never find your way back to the exit. She reached into her bag, taking out the thread she always kept on her, tying it to the knob of the cabinet of which she’d been dropped out. 

Then, slowly taking a step, she knew immediately she was not in Borgin’s and Burke’s. Despite its eerie atmosphere and overall creepiness level, it looked more like I was a very large spare closet. It was filled here and there with broken and damaged furniture—chairs, tables and even haphazardly stacked cabinets—thousands and thousands of books. There were winged catapults and fanged Frisbees, some with enough life in them to hover half-heartedly overs the mountains of other items. There were chipped bottles of congealed potions, hats, jewels, cloaks, what looked like dragon eggshells, corked bottles whose contents still shimmered almost temptingly, several rusting swords and a heavy, bloodstained axe.

As she wandered cautiously, she came upon many cages in various sizes. She opened a cabinet and screamed as she jumped back as something fell out—her blood ran cold as she recognized it as a 5-legged skeleton. She went the other direction when she saw this.

She was surprised to find she recognized a few things—several trophies from the trophy room, some chess pieces from the giant Wizard’s Chess Set that protected the Philosopher’s Stone, several Astronomy-related paraphernalia. She didn’t dare venture too close to the silver skulls, or the urns and jars. She thought better than to touch the suspiciously shiny harp. It was only when she came upon a large mirror that she stopped. She recognized this mirror too.

In her first year, she’d encountered this mirror during the Christmas break. She did not believe she would ever see it again, or rather, she hoped she would never see it again. The Mirror of Erised or simply, the Mirror of Desire. It had once concealed the Philosopher’s Stone, the very thing that could bring back Voldemort. She had been the one to retrieve it from the mirror. She didn’t think she’d ever stand before it again.

She was sure she would regret it, but she stepped in front of it. During her first encounter, she had always seen her parents and her extended family, save the Durlseys. They stood behind her, almost close to touch. The second time, she had seen the Philosopher’s Stone, and she was able to retrieve it. Now, she was unsure of what she would find.

Instead of finding her father’s wide beam and her mother’s wet eyes, she found something different. She found herself, alone, but she hadn’t realized that the girl was her until she saw the scar. The girl she was in the mirror did not look like Persephone—well, she looked like Persephone, only better.

Mirror Persephone was very beautiful. Her hair gleamed a healthy red, her skin was radiant and translucent. Her eyes were clear of any doubt and her stance was perfectly confident. She held herself, too, with a certainty about herself. She knew who she was, through and through. This was not the most drastic difference, however—she was adorning school clothes, a skirt and a blouse with her tie, her hair pushed back with a headband. There was a head girl badge on her blouse, and she had her wand at the ready in her hand. However, the badge was not what threw her off—it was the fact that her tie and headband were not of her own house colors—they were green and silver, the colors of Slytherin House.

As she kept staring at herself, she saw her image zone in and out, from a ballerina outfit, holding flowers, to her being Quidditch captain of the Slytherin team, winning the house cup. It always flickered back to her showing off her house colors in pride.

She closed her eyes for a long moment and turned away—as amazing a vision it was, she had to recall Dumbledore’s words. She knew better than to put too much hope in a dream that could never happen. She was put in Gryffindor house for a reason—wasn’t she?

When she opened her eyes, her eyes immediately fell on a crown looking object. Upon further inspection, it was more a circlet. Made of a bronze material of some sort, it had beautiful and intricate detailing. It had a large, deep blue oval jewel in the middle of it at the front, with two eagles soaring away from it and creating the intricate yet simple pattern that made up the circlet. Amongst the pattern were several silver jewels, perhaps diamonds, adjourning the detailing, the biggest diamonds being the eagle’s eyes.

At first, when Persephone picked it up, she thought it ought to go around someone’s neck rather than on the head. Then, when she foolishly and without thinking it through, placed it on her head, she thought that it only should belong on the head, worn almost like a crown or tiara.

She stared at herself in one of the other mirrors, one of the broken ones, and found that perhaps seeing her broken reflection was a rather accurate depiction of herself. She had no control over of how her reflection seemed to fade, in an out. She could only stare at herself, feeling her vision blur and then, walking forward, her fist came forward to break the glass of the Mirror of Erised.

Again and again, she pounded on the glass, finding it unbreakable until finally, she placed two hands on it and screamed. And with this ear shattering scream came the mirror shattering and down fell the pieces until there was no mirror left.

Shaking and near tears, she sighed a deep sigh. She felt better now, not being able to see the girl she could never be. She didn’t want the chance to see something unattainable—her parents included.

Reaching into her bag as she bent down, she pulled out a jar that any respectable potioneer carried and used her wandless magic to pull all the glass dust and mirror shards into the jar before twisting the lid closed tightly. She couldn’t help nicking her ankle and winced slightly. She stood once more, tucking the jar into her bag, and glancing around once more.

There was a reason she had to be here—well, in Diagon Alley. She had to buy her things for her second year at Hogwarts, that, despite everything, she was going to attend. She had her friends waiting and a year of magic ready to be learnt. So why was she still standing here?

_Because you are unsure of whether or not you want to go back._

Jumping, she looked around, her heart racing, “Who’s there?” She sounded a lot braver than she felt.

An ominous silence followed. She thought perhaps it was bests suited for her to take her leave so she used the thread to find her way back to the cabinet—intricate magic, as she finally put a name to what she walked through. Vanishing Cabinets.

She almost laughed, had she not been trying to be quiet—she was foolish to not see it quicker.

She stepped into the cabinet, closing it behind her. The coolness returned and she listened carefully. When she heard nothing, she slipped out of the cabinet silently, closing it shut behind her. She hurried out of the empty shop’s door.

Looking around, she paled. Several people—men—were staring at her. She looked about, ignoring their eyes and found something very unfortunate about her surroundings—it seemed she had emerged into an alleyway devoted loyally to the Dark Arts.

“Pretty tiara you’ve got there,” A haggard woman said, coming close to her. Persephone jumped back, staring hard at the woman who made a swipe for her head. She realized quickly that she had never taken the tiara off her head.

Reaching up, she pulled it off, shoving it into her bag—no use going back into the shop now. As she considered her options, she started walking. Nothing looked like Diagon Alley’s familiar shops. How deep inside this horrible little alley had she wound up?

She came upon a corner and looked up at the streets signs—she was in what was called Knockturn Alley.

She thought of going into the closest shop to ask for help when a raspy voice spoke right in her ear, “Aren’t lost, you are, my dear?”

She spun immediately, feeling as if though the blood in her veins had run cold. Two shabby looking wizards that had their eyes on her before when she came out of Borgins’ shop were standing there. They smiled at her with chipped, yellow teeth in a manner that she did not like—disgusting.

She backed away immediately, her hand reaching for her wand, “Now, now, no need for that,” The taller one said.

As if drawn to her like magnets, they took steps with her and she hit a stone wall. One of them licked his lips and reached out to touch her hair, “Such a beauty, eh, Spinner?”

As the taller one, Spinner, took a step forward, she surged her leg forward, kicking him in the stomach straight. He looked down at his shabby attire and sneered before seeing something—she had been bleeding, still, from the cut and some blood had spattered on his shirt. Her blood shimmered on his shirt, shimmering like a diamond.

At the sight of her own blood, she felt suddenly territorial and she doubled over like an animal and bared her fangs at them, her eyes glowing.

They cursed, backing off immediately but this only seemed to excite them further, “A siren…”

“We’ll be rich—” She seemed to snarl and they backed up even more.

“SEPHIE!” A sudden booming voice made her straighten, her fangs retracting and her eyes returning to their natural color. “What d’yeh think yer doin’ down there?”

She met Hagrid, the Hogwarts’ gamekeeper, halfway. “You looked ready to rip ‘em apart!”

“I got lost—the Floo powder—”

She turned on instinct to snarl (?) at the men who just made a swipe to grab her hair. Hagrid put a giant hand on her shoulder, pulling her away from the men and turning her around. He pushed her up along the twisting alleyway out into a brightly lit pathway. Persephone saw, with great relief, the familiar Olympus-esque marble building that could only be Gringotts Bank.

“Look at the yeh! Yer a mess!” Hagrid said gruffly, patting soot off her shoulders so forcefully, she nearly slammed into a barrel of dragon dung outside an apothecary. “Skulkin’ around Knockturn Alley, I dunno, Sephie, dodgy place to be in—don’ want no one ter see yeh down there—”

“Well, no kidding!” Persephone coughed. “I got lost—what were you doing down there?”

“I was lookin’ fer a Flesh-Eatin’ Slug Repellent,” Hagrid growled. “They’re ruinin’ the school cabbages. Yer not on yer own?”

“I’m with the Weasleys until school. We got separated—Floo powder,” Persephone explained, looking around. “I ought to go find them. We’re meeting Hermione here as well.”

She made a move to move down the street but Hagrid stopped her, “Listen ‘ere,, what was that you did back there?”

Persephone chilled, “What thin—”

“I don’t wan you actin stupid, I saw the fangs an’ the eyes—what was that?” He pushed, raising his brows.

She pursed her lips, “Well…”

“If it is what I think, you ought to be more careful! When Malfoy came a’runnin last year durin yer detention, saying yeh tried to kill em, I thought he was only tryin to set you up but now…”

“I—”

“Listen here, Sephie—you got to be more careful then that. There’s people out there who done terrible things in the past to yer sort, and will do it again if they find out yer one.” He coughed. “People will not be all warmed up to you when they find out what yeh are—I should know.”

Persephone raise a brow, “Are you…a mermaid too?”

“No!” He chuckled. “Come on, then, off we go.”

She sighed, “Fine.”

They set off together down the street and then, “Lily! Lily! Over here!” Someone familiar called and Persephone’s heart soared as she searched for the source of the shout. She spotted a dark skinned girl standing at the top of the white flight of steps to Gringotts, her frizzy hair pulled back in a braid.

She ran down to meet them and Persephone accepted the hug, rocking back from the impact of her run, “Hermione!”

“Oh how I’ve missed you!” Hermione pulled back, “Hello, Hagrid—oh, it’s wonderful to see you two again—Are you coming into Gringotts, Lily?”

“Yeah, I need to, but listen, I got lost, so I should go find the Weasleys.” Persephone said, still grinning at her. She felt so good to see her best friend again—best girlfriend, that is.

“Don’t have ter wait too long,” Hagrid said, waving to someone well in the distance. Persephone and Hermione looked back to see a group of tall red-heads sprinting towards them.

“Thank heavens,” Mr. Weasley panted. “We hoped you’d only gone one grate too far…” He mopped his glistening bald patch. “Molly’s frantic—she’s coming now—”

“Where did you come out?” Ron asked.

“Knockturn Alley,” said Hagrid grimly.

“Excellent!” Fred and George said together.

“We’ve never been allowed in,” Ron moaned enviously.

“I should ruddy well think not,” Hagrid growled. “Nothing good goes on down there.”

Thankfully, Hagrid did not mention what the nothing good that had happened there now that he saw Mrs. Weasley now galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly in one hand, Gary just clinging onto the other.

“Oh, Persephone—oh, my dear—you could have been anywhere—”

Still gasping for breath, she pulled a large clothes brush out of her bag and began to clean of the soot off her, tucking away several strands of her hair behind her ear and bringing her hair onto her shoulder.

“Well, gotta be off,” Hagrid said, who was having his hand wrung by Mrs. Weasley (“Knockturn Alley! If you hadn’t found her, Hagrid!”). “See yer at Hogwarts!” And he strode away, head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street.

They started the climb up to Gringotts, Hermione and Ron on either side of Persephone, behind them with twins. Persephone said, “Know who happened to be in Borgin and Burkes?” She smirked, “Selling off several,” She put on a pristine posh accent, “Embarrassing items in his manor?”

Ron caught on immediately, “Not surprising.”

Hermione frowned, “Who?”

“Malfoy and his father,” She told her.

“Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?” Mr. Weasley asked sharply behind them.

“Just selling.”

“Aha,” Mr. Weasley said with grim satisfaction. “So he’s worried…oh, I’d love to get Lucius Malfoy for something…”

“You be careful, Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley said sharply as they were bowed into the bank by a goblin at the door. “That family’s trouble. Don’t go biting off more than you can chew—”

“So you don’t think I’m a match for Lucius Malfoy?” Mr. Weasley said indignantly, but his attention was taken away at once when he caught sight of Hermione’s parents standing nervously at the counter that ran all along the great marble hall, waiting for Hermione to introduce them.

They shook the Weasleys hands and then Persephone’s and commented on how well maintained her teeth were—George snickered at her blush and she stepped, rather on purpose, on his foot.

“We must have a drink sometime!” Mr. Weasley insisted delightfully. “What is that you’ve got there? Oh, you’ve got Muggle money—exchanging it? Oh—Molly look!” He pointed excitedly at the ten-pound notes in Mr. Granger’s hand.

“Meet you back here,” Ron said to Hermione as the Weasleys and Persephone were led off to their underground vaults by another Gringotts goblin.

Persephone paused, looking at someone rather familiar looking…he was a well-dressed, dark haired boy with very nice facial features that seemed very handsome…for a moment, she nearly did not recognize him.

“Ben?” She said, raising her brows.

He turned instinctively and looked surprised, “Potter.”

“Er, hi?” She said. How awkward was this? Should she hug him? Shake his hands? Make fun of him for what he was currently wearing? Despite how surprising it was to see him so…neat, it was no laughing matter.

He was wearing black pants, dress shoes, and black wizard robes, with a high top and unbuttoned at the front of the neck, with shoulder pads and a very handsome cut. The sleeves billowed out into the elbow, where it cut off to and under cloth of tight black. She’d never seen him look so professional or handsome. He had his dark, thick hair slicked back, making it sleek and neat.

She was stunned at how good he could look if he actually tried. He looked like Superman. Or perhaps a well-dressed Clark Kent, the only superhero she’d ever had a crush on. It was…hilarious.

“Er, you guys go ahead,” She told to the Weasleys. “We wouldn’t fit in a cart anyway.”

When they were gone, she crossed her arms, “What are you doing here alone? Where are Mary and Reginald?”

He coughed, “I’m not here with them.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Well then, with who?”

“Sorry, I have to, uh,” He pointed towards the vaults and she raised a brow.

“Then we can share a cart.” She said.

The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin-driven carts that sped along miniature train tracks through the bank’s underground tunnels.. Persephone would have enjoyed the breakneck journey down to her vault, but instead had nerves bubbling in her chest at being almost alone with Hades.

“Why are we going so far down?” She asked into the silence.

“Well, the Black vault is pretty deep underground, because it’s pretty old,” He told her. She nodded and pursed her lips.

“So your name is Hades Black…?” She asked.

“Yes?”

She cleared her throat, “I mean, that’s the name you’re going with now?”

“Have to,” He said. “I made a compromise with my aunt, though, about my name. My middle name is Di Angelo.”

“Huh.” Then she smiled. “The Black Angel of Death?”

“Of Hell,” He corrected.

She snickered, “Suits you.”

“Right, Persephone Lilith Potter,” He said and she crossed her arms.

“So you know your aunt, then?” She asked. “Your biological aunt?”

He said, “My biological mother’s sister, yes.”

She was going to make some smart remark but then they had arrived at his named number vault—Vault 711. Vault 711 was very large and filled with gold, more than her own vault.

“This is all yours?” She asked, raising her eyebrows.

He coughed, uncomfortable, “Yeah, I’m the only male Black that isn’t imprisoned so…”

“Oh. So it isn’t your mother’s?” She asked, glancing over the deeds—the Black family owned several properties it seemed. 12 Grimmauld Place was one of them.

“No, she got married.” He said, counting out coins. “Her vault is deeper underground.”

“So…you have two vaults?” She asked.

He paused and then nodded, “Yes, the Lestrange vault. My…mom married her husband and I inherit both.”

“Huh.”

He peeked at her, “My entire family is either dead or imprisoned for life or disowned. I’m the only person to be legally able to inherit anything.”

“Oh..kay.”

They visited the Lestrange vault. It was highly protected and had loads of security. He was only in there for a minute and returned with a heavy bag. She raised a brow and he smiled at her innocently.

On the way back up, they visited the Potter vault and collected what she needed. Then he handed the heavier bag to the goblin who had manned the cart and muttered something. The goblin nodded, “Of course, Master Black.”

He looked uncomfortable with the sentiment but said nothing. The goblin stopped by an empty vault and emptied the bag in the vault. Immediately, the coins sorted themselves out with Galleons at the back, Sickles in the middle and Knuts in the front.

“Whose vault is that?” Persephone asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” He coughed. “Just a late thank you present. Got a lovely Christmas gift last Chrismas, a nice sweater, and thought I’d repay the sentiment.”

She furrowed her brows, “Was the sweater made of gold?”

“Funny,” He said sarcastically.

They separated once out of the bank, and he did not even bid her goodbye. She stood awkwardly, her own goodbye stuck in her throat.

She met up with the Weasleys outside before every separated. Percy headed off, saying something about a new quill, Mr. Weasley took the Grangers off to the Leaky Cauldron and Mrs. Weasley took Gary for his wand. They were to meet in an hour to buy their schoolbooks at Flourish and Blotts.

The twins came with the trio, following behind. Persephone got Hermione a strawberry ice cream and Ron a blueberry icey pop while she got her pink lemonade. She made the twins let her buy them each a slushy, as they had never had one. It was much too hot to not have something cold. Ron was fascinated by a full set of Chudley Cannon robes in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies while Hermione and Persephone dragged him off, discussing ink types while they entered the shop next-door.

They bought parchment and ink and Persephone made a note to stock up on pens. Maybe she could start selling them. Then the twins dragged them off to Gambol and Japes, the local joke shop, where they stocked up Dr. Filibuster’s Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks.

Hermione and Persephone headed into what Ron called ‘every wizard’s nightmare’, which really was just a cosmetics sort of shop. Persephone and Hermione each bought bobby pins that didn’t move from their designated spots and hair ties that took longer to rip—perfect for girls with thick hair. Persephone bought new gel and a new hairbrush, the newer model thank god, hers was getting cranky. It made a style last twice as long.

She got herself better towels as well—better for curly hair and made her hair frizz-free. Another body towel with a lasting heat charm, thick and good smelling. She skipped out on the moisturizers and body sprays—Ben assured her she had a very nice, natural smell.

From there, she dragged them all to the dance shop to purchase her dance clothes—she needed dance shoes, as stated from the curriculum list. She bought some contemporary shoes, jazz shoes, ballroom, salsa, tango and sneakers. She bought several different types of tights, leotards, skirts, warm up clothes and wrap shirts. She bought two extra pointe shoes for the hell of it. The girls were chatting about their summers—Persephone filled Hermione in on Italian magical schools.

They rejoined the boys after purchasing their things and ended up wandering around a tiny junk shop full of broken wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks covered in potion stains. They came upon Percy inside, deep in the shop, immersed in a small, tattered book with the title, _Prefects Who Gained Power._

“ _A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers_ ,” Ron read aloud off the back cover. “That sounds _fascinating_ …”

“Go away,” Percy snapped.

“We’ll be voting for him in a few years,” Ron said. “For when he decides to run for Minister of Magic.”

An hour later, they headed for Flourish and Blotts. It seemed as though everyone in Diagon Alley had decided to go into the book shop at the same time. A large crowd was jostling outside the doors, all trying to get in at the same time. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:

_GILDEROY LOCKHART_

_Will be signing copies of his autobiography_

_MAGICAL ME_

_Today 12:30P.M.to 4:30P.M._

“Oh! We can actually meet him!” Hermione squealed. “I mean, he’s written almost the whole booklist!”

She wasn’t fooling Persephone, who stared blankly at Hermione, who started to blush. She wasn’t the only witch blushing—the entire crowd was made up of mostly witches, with a few wizards dotted around, were all flushed with excitement and at how hot the shop was with how many people were inside.

Persephone felt bad for the harassed looking wizard standing, almost guard, at the door, trying to make his voice heard over the commotion, “Calmly, please, ladies…Don’t push, there…mind the books, now…”

Persephone was small enough to slip in, dragging both her friends in with lots of force that caused several witches to give them dirty looks. Then they had a job of it to fight their way to where Mrs. Weasley was with the rest of the boys and Hermione’s parents. They had each grabbed a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2, thank god, because Persephone was most certainly not meeting this guy.

“Oh, goodness, there you are, right on time,” Mrs. Weasley said breathlessly, patting down her hair. “We’ll be able to see him in a minute…”

Gilderoy Lockhart finally came into view, slowly and most graciously (barf) and took a seat at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard’s hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.

A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash. Persephone rolled her eyes and immersed herself in her book—this was something she would at least remember in the coming days, not some overly popularized chump.

“Out of the way, there,” The photographer guy pushed at Ron, who stumbled into Persephone, “This is for the Daily Prophet—”

“Big deal,” Ron said, holding onto Persephone’s shoulder for support as her rubbed his foot where the photographer had harshly stepped on. Persephone had not looked up from her book but Gilderoy Lockhart had looked up from his at Ron’s comment.

He saw Ron and then he saw Persephone. He stared for a long minute before leaping to his feet and shouting, for _everyone_ to hear, “It _can’t_ be! Persephone Potter?!”

Persephone looked up as the crowd parted, whispering excitedly, and met Lockhart’s eyes. She then snapped her book shut and acted like the rest of the crowd, “Where?”

He did not hear—or did not buy—the lie and dove forward to seize her arm and pull her up to stand next to him. Her face immediately burned and she felt anxiety curl up in her chest like a snake as the crowd burst into applause. Lockhart bent over her hand and kissed it for the photographer, who was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys.

“Nice big smile, Persephone,” Lockhart said through a smile that should have hurt him, “Together, you and I are worth the front page.”

When he finally let her hand go, she made a move to slip away but he put his arm around her shoulder, holding her by his side. She looked down at the hand, and then met eyes with Ron, who was cringing apologetically.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” He said loudly, “You should all take note to remember this moment. The perfect moment to announce something I’ve been greedily holding to myself.” He shook Persephone lightly, as if he were making a joke, “When this young lady first entered the store, she was just like any of you—a fan, waiting to meet her hero and to buy his autobiography.” Persephone mouthed the words, ‘What??’ as he continued, “Which I shall grant to her free of a charge,” The crowd applauded once more and Persephone thought she would start crying from the overwhelming anxiety, fighting its way up her throat. “She had no idea that she would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. She and her classmates will all be getting the real magical me, as I announce with great pleasure and pride that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

“Nooo!” Persephone whispered—this man? This man would be teaching them this year? Was Dumbledore off his rocker?

Before she knew what was happening, a whole stack of the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart was being presented to her. She was finally able to escape the spotlight, stumbling hurriedly back to the Weasleys and she tipped the books into Gary’s new cauldron, “You take these—I need some air.”

She was pushing her way through the crowds when suddenly, when she made it to the front, a voice she recognized all too well made her groan, “Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter?”

She straightened and looked, quite irritated, at Draco Malfoy. Now, in proper lighting, she found that he was still permanently wearing a sneer and still annoying.

“Famous Persephone Potter,” Malfoy said, “Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.”

“You’re acting rather brave for someone who doesn’t know how to throw a proper punch,” Someone spoke before she could.

She turned to look for the source of the voice, as it was scarily familiar, and was startled to find Hades Di Angelo Black, standing with folded arms and mocking dark eyes. She sputtered for a moment—he had that effect on her. It seemed he did not outgrow his sneaking habit.

She stared, her mouth falling open—she quickly composed herself and cleared her throat. Ben glanced at her and looked away. Draco’s sneer became more malicious, “I wouldn’t talk if I were you, Hades.”

“Hades?”

Hades met her eyes once more, “Persephone?”

“Would you look at how sweet,” Draco smirked. “Two outcasts who match right up.”

“You are rather brave without your goons, aren’t you?” Persephone crossed her arms, glaring at Draco. “Must I deal with you so early in the year?”

“Oh, it’s you,” Ron said as he and Hermione fought their way over to Persephone. “Bet you’re surprised to see Lily here, eh?”

“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,” Malfoy retorted. “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those.”

Ron went as red as his roots and had to be held back by Persephone from jumping him. ‘Hades’ laughed out loud, a sudden laugh that made them all jump.

“Well, as fun as this has been—” He turned to leave but froze as a hand came down on his shoulder. 

On the other side of the war line, Mr. Weasley struggled over to them with Fred and George by his sides. "Much too crowded in here—let’s head outside.” He was saying but his words were cut off when he caught sight of the tall man behind Hades and Malfoy.

“Well, well, well—Arthur Weasley.”

Mr. Malfoy stood behind his son and Hades, a hand on both their shoulders, sneering in the identical manner as his son. Persephone couldn’t help but stare at the hand that tightened on Hades’ shoulder. She stared, and wondered why Hades’ eyes suddenly dropped. What…was going on?

“Lucius,” Mr. Weasley said in cold greeting, nodding only once.

Mr. Malfoy’s eyes fell around the flock of redheads and his eyes landed on Persephone. A glint of interest filled his eyes and he took a moment to smile a most pompous smile. “Persephone Potter…Lucius Malfoy.” He offered her his hand and, not wanting to be impolite to even a man like Draco’s father, she offered hers. He shook it once and before she could let go, he pulled her forward, “You must meet my…nephew, Hades Black.”

Hades Black looked at her only for a millisecond but his eyes begged her not to say anything so she nodded in his direction, but couldn’t help saying, “Nephew?”

The boy she’s spent a portion of her summer with, the boy who had been an outcast at Hogwarts—was a Malfoy? Or a Black? Or simply related to Draco Malfoy? What in the ever loving hell?

She composed herself quickly, “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

“Nice to meet you,” Hades told her, clasping her smaller hand. Surprising her, he leant over it to brush his lips lightly over her knuckles. She stared at him incredulously before he straightened. She noticed the hand on his shoulder tighten. He straightened slightly, his jaw clasped tightly together.

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” Mr. Malfoy said. She backed away quickly, not taking her eyes of Hades. “Certainly keeping you busy, with all those raids…I do hope they are paying you overtime.” He smirked knowingly and Persephone felt her hand ball into a fist.

He reached into Gary’s cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration.

“Obviously not,” Mr. Malfoy said. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?”

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Gary.

“We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,” he said.

“Clearly,” Mr. Malfoy said, his pale eyes glancing back at Mr. And Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. “The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no lower.”

“Weren’t you a Death Eater?” Persephone spoke up, loudly.

Everyone’s eyes turned to look at her, in shock. She waited, staring up at Lucius Malfoy. He pursed his lips, “Well, a prime example of how little muggle brought up witches are taught. Have you no respect, girl, of the trauma that has been brought on my family? How dare you ask such a question?”

“Oh, I’m very well aware of this, how you call it, _trauma_ ,” She made air quotations as she repeated the word. “However, I am well aware that you claim to have been put under the Imperius Curse. It is commonly known that to be put under this curse, you have to be relatively weak-minded, no? Weak-minded and unable to discern your mind in its natural state and under the curse, so truly, you were a Death Eater, either willingly or unwillingly. The only question remaining is whether you are a blood purist with intents and encouragements of genocide on those brought up in a non-magical environment, or if you are simply a weak-minded idiot unable to recognize a curse when it bears inside his mind.” She raised her brows. “So which is it?”

The twins behind her were laughing, and not quietly and Hades, too, was staring at her in shock, with the start of a smile playing on his lips. She waited, staring at Lucius Malfoy.

It was Draco that spoke, “How dare—”

“Well, simple answer, really—I don’t care for people who believe themselves above other people for the simple cause of being brought up in an entirely magical family. Truly, it’s an idiotic notion, to believe your above people—the law, even,” She said, pointedly looking at Draco’s father. “Because what does being pure-blooded prove? That you understand magic better? Because this has been proven false, as Hermione Granger is a witch brought up in an entirely non-magical family and yet is the top of our class, better than several purebloods, including you, Draco. Weren’t you marked something like, second, in our grade?” She asked somewhat mockingly. “Oh, no I forget. I’m above you as well. And I, of course, was brought up in a non-magical environment, with the added _trauma_ ,” She said, looking at Lucius pointedly in a mocking tone, “Of being an orphan. So that would make you, Draco, third in class behind two non-magically brought up witches.” She thought for a moment, taking a pause, “Or perhaps, this is just another example of the difference between boys and girls. Girls are taught from very early on about the real world, hm, aren’t we?” She exchanged a look with Hermione, who was looking on with amazement. “Yes, I do believe so. So, you, a boy, a white boy, at that, has had everything handed to you and the second that ‘daddy’ isn’t there, you aren’t able to get your way by simply being white and male and pureblooded.”

“W—”

She cut Lucius Malfoy off, “I’m not done.” She didn’t give him a chance to react, “That, of course, would be factual, should we not stand here, with a family which has produced several head boys of academic excellence, each studying well, with another one well on his way to becoming head boy next year, and two boys with not only excellent academic lives but also managing being on our house’s Quidditch team, of which takes up a lot of their time, who have to work for it. So…truly, I suppose, it’s just you, then, hm?” She smiled sweetly.

Lucius Malfoy went through the stages of grief whilst standing there and finally settled on a mocking tone, “Perhaps the enemies you made were not all entirely for mysterious night of October 31st, then, hm? Perhaps it’s that big mouth of yours.”

“Well, if the enemies I have are mad because their leader lost to a one year old, then I do believe I’ll be able to handle myself well,” She smiled sweetly up at him.

And then appeared the familiar sneer. He was still holding Gary’s old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice, “Here, boy—take your book—it’s the best your father can give you—”

With a beckon to the boys, the three left the shop, one cousin casting an impressed smile at Persephone, while the other glared.

“Well, now, Lily, I don’t have to tell you how upset Molly will be when she hears of this,” Mr. Weasley said, though he himself was also holding back a smile as well. “If you promise not to do that again, I don’t see any reason to mention it to her though.”

Persephone smiled, “Of course, Mr. Weasley.”

The rest of the Weasley boys were rather enamored with every word she had spoken but Hermione was on the fence between proud of her or concerned, “You ought to not make so many enemies, Lily!”

“Any blood, race or gender purists are already my enemy,” She shrugged innocently. “So, what do your parents think of Lockhart?”

The Grangers were intrigued by the drinks in the Leaky Cauldron and were pleased to find Persephone could find a balance between magical and non-magical worlds, as they’d been concerned their daughter would drown in the former. “I’m actually thinking of starting some sort of club, a sort unity amongst houses, but I’m not sure what sort of club it’ll be. I was thinking about bringing in some more non-magical themes,” She told them.

“Count me in,” George said from across the table immediately, only to be snickered at by his brother. Persephone grinned at him.

When they bid the Grangers goodbye, who offered a genuine invitation for her to stay any time she’d like at the Grange household which Hermione beamed at, Persephone made sure her bags were all securely wrapped to her.

She did not enjoy Floo powder. It was definitely not her preferred method of travel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if its made clear enough about how this is the beginning of the end for Persephone's sweeter, more innocent character. I hope I made it very clear that she's no longer herself with the little speech at Malfoy. Any guesses for what has happened or will happened? Leave a comment :)


	4. Tom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this one!

Eventually, summer came to an end. While Persephone greatly looked forward to returning to Hogwarts, she would miss the Burrow. She felt unjustly envious of Ron because she was sure her welcome back to Privet Drive wouldn’t even include letting her into the house.

Persephone’s last few days leading up to September 1st consisted of reading through all her new textbooks and trying to get an idea of what to expect. She was not looking forward to DADA but then again, she never had. There had been several occasions where George, Fred and Ron complained that she was on break and shouldn’t be working but she liked herself to be occupied—she had felt different since going to Diagon Alley and could only feel somewhat herself when she was doing schoolwork. 

She was also worrying—worrying about Ben or Hades, or whatever he went by these days. He knew her secret—a horrible secret that could possibly get her kicked out of Hogwarts and shunned from the magical community—and while it was alright before, when she thought them to be bonded of their shared moon thing, it suddenly was very bad, now that she knew he was related to the Malfoys in such an intimate way. Worse—there was no possible friendship between them. Not if he was with the Malfoys.

On their last evening, Persephone’s clothes were all washed and she repacked her trunk with her new things in their right places while laying out her uniform and robes for the next day.

Mrs. Weasley had set out a sumptuous dinner that included all of Persephone’s favorite things, ending with a mouth-watering treacle pudding. The twins brought out a display of Filibuster fireworks; they filled the kitchen with red and blue stars that bounced from ceiling to wall for at least half an hour. Then it was time for a last mug of hot chocolate and bed.

Everyone else were up by the time she vacated the bathroom. It seemed they were running late, even after having gotten up at the crack of dawn. Mrs. Weasley dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare socks and quills; people kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with bits of toast in their hands; and Mr. Weasley nearly broke his neck, tripping over a stray chicken as he crossed the yard carrying Gary’s trunk to the car.

Everyone was situated in the car—Fred, Percy, Ron, Persephone and George all in the back, in that order. Persephone sat next to George, laying her head on his shoulder almost immediately—she was ready to pass out from her sleepless night. She’d been worrying all night about Hades or Ben or Obi-Wan or whatever.

She felt him tense up ever so slightly but paid no mind to it as Gary and Mrs. Weasley took their seats in the front, commenting, “Muggles do know more than we give them credit for, don’t they?” She was referring to how big the car interior was—something Mr. Weasley told her not to bring light to. Otherwise, she’d be surprised to find that when Mr. Weasley packed away six trunks, they all fit perfectly. Instead of barely fitting, Persephone, Ron, Fred, George, and Percy were all sitting comfortably side by side. “I mean, you’d never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?”

Persephone fell asleep almost immediately, not waking up when Mr. Weasley started up the engine and started driving out of the yard. She didn’t wake when they had to go back so Fred could run in and get his broomstick. Then, they were again stopped five minutes after that when Gary shrieked that he’d forgotten his lucky quill, or when George and Fred teased him about having a lucky quill but, Persephone did not wake. She did wake, however, when they neared the highway and George had them turn around for his box of Filibuster fireworks. He made Fred go and get them, as to not disturb Persephone sleeping on his shoulder but when Fred passed them to him, he had knocked it right into her head, waking her up thoroughly.

She smiled sheepishly before laying her head on Ron’s shoulder instead. She was probably irritating George with sleeping on his shoulder.

They were running late when everyone had finally decided they were not missing anything. Mr. Weasley made the start of a suggestion: “Molly, dear—”

Without missing a beat, Mrs. Weasley responded with, “No, Arthur—”

“No one would see—this little button here is an Invisibility Booster I installed—that’d get us up in the air—then we fly above the clouds. We’d be there in ten minutes and no one would be any the wiser—”

“I said no, Arthur, not in broad daylight —”

George shook Persephone awake when the parked. Mr. Weasley was dashing across the road to get trolleys for their trunks and Persephone was suddenly alarmed—she had checked her watch to find it was a quarter to eleven.

Persephone, like all other first years attending Hogwarts, had been stifled by the manner of getting onto Platform 9¾ last year. She had nearly had a panic attack when the Weasleys had approached her and showed her how to get on—all you had to do was walk right through the solid barrier, something no non-magical person could do. 

Like last year, Mrs. Weasley said, “Percy, you first.”

Persephone watched anxiously as Percy crossed the barrier and disappeared through it. Mr. Weasley went next; Fred and George followed swiftly after.

“I’ll take Gary and you two come right after us,” Mrs. Weasley told Persephone and Ron, grabbing her youngest son’s hand. As the others had, they were gone in less than a second.

“Hurry!” Persephone said, glancing at her watch. Just a minute to go!

Together, side-by-side, they faced the barrier. Persephone felt a strange juxtaposition. This time last year, she was worried sick about bashing her head into the wall. This time, however, she was confident. As they had done last year, they pushed their trolleys towards the barrier, faster and faster, until a few feet away from the barrier they hit it at a run and then—

CRASH.

Their trolleys hit the barrier as if though they were any other ordinary brick wall. Ron’s trunk fell off with a loud thump while Persephone was lunged forward, knocking Hedwig’s cage to the floor. She rolled away, shrieking indignantly; people all around them stared and a guard nearby yelled, “What in blazes d’you think you’re doing?”

“Sorry!” She cried, clutching her ribs as she got up, “Faulty wheels!”

Ron was running to grab Hedwig, who was causing such a scene that there was a lot of muttering about cruelty to animals from the surrounding crowd.

“This can’t be the wrong wall, can it?” Persephone hissed to Ron, who was panicked.

“No way—” Ron looked wildly around. A dozen curious people were still watching them. “We’re going to miss the train,” Ron whispered. “I don’t understand why the gateway’s sealed itself—”

He was right—they wouldn’t make the train. It left at exactly eleven and, glancing at the overheard clock, they had only ten seconds.

Paralyzed, she watched it countdown and then—

“It’s gone,” Ron said, “The train’s left. What if Mum and Dad can’t get back through to us?”

“We…we just need to wait.” She told him, trying to calm herself down. “Your parents will come to the car and…and we’ll explain everything then. This wasn’t our faults—we can’t possibly get into any trouble.”

So that’s what they did. They went all the way back to the car, carrying their trunks and the animal cages that contained Salem and Hedwig. Unfortunately, the car was locked. She pursed her lips…this car was pretty old.

“I could…break in?” She suggested. “I have bobby pins and this car is pretty old, so it would be easy.”

“Persephone, you have magic.” Ron said blankly.

She frowned, “We aren’t allowed doing magic outside of Hogwarts, I’ve already gotten a warning for something I didn’t do!”

“Not _that_ kind of magic!”

She understood, “Oh! Oh, okay, hold on.”

She glanced around—she didn’t have to mutter an incantation for this sort of magic. She simply took to staring at the lock on the driver’s side, making gestures with her hand as if she were grabbing it. She pulled on the air and the lock unlocked.

Once inside, their panic only grew tiresome.

“They can’t get back! That must be it!” Ron said finally, thirty minutes later. He had chewed on a candy Fred had left behind and that seemed to calm his nerves but when he had eaten it, he was panicked once more. “And if they had, Mum would have made dad leave the car! How are supposed to get to school? They don’t know we didn’t make it on!”

Persephone took a deep breath, trying to settle her thoughts, “Alright, we need to be creative. There must be another way to get to school—there are no wrong answers.”

Ron gasped, “We can fly the car!”

Persephone stared at him for a long moment and said, “Alright, there is one wrong answer.”

“No seriously, we can! Fred and George taught me!”

“Ron!” She stared at him, incredulous, “We cannot fly the car! Especially not in such a crowded place! Imagine the amount of trouble your dad would get in!”

“We have the invisibility booster.”

“And then what will we do with the car once at school?” She asked. “How would we explain it?”

“Alright fine, what ideas do you have then?” He asked. She pursed her lips and then spun to stare at Hedwig. She didn’t look as upset as before. “Oh, brilliant! Why didn’t we think of that before? How long do you think it’ll take before she gets to Hogwarts?”

“Fast, if I promise her extra treats,” She smiled sweetly at her owl, who eyed her interestedly.

Persephone pulled out her notebook, scribbling quickly a message _‘…we are unable to get onto Platform 9¾ and have missed the train. We have no other way to get to school. Could we have some help?’_ “Perfect.” Persephone said, giving the letter to Hedwig after address it to Dumbledore, the headmaster.

She rolled the window down, to let Hedwig go, “Alright, Hedwig, to Dumbledore, alright? As fast as you can!” And she sent her owl flying.

They watched, feeling relieved, only to watch the letter disappear from Hedwig’s grasp. Hedwig continued on her journey as they watched, shocked.

“Oh my gods,” Persephone muttered. “Of course! It’s him!”

“Who?!”

“Dobby!” She shrieked, getting out of the car. She glanced around, looking for any sign of the house elf. “He must still be trying to keep me from going to Hogwarts. He must have blocked the barrier!”

“The git!” Ron said. “Where would he be hiding?”

Persephone pursed her lips before stepping into the crowd, “Dobby?” She asked out loud. Nothing. No cracks. She cleared her throat, trying her best to contain her anger and keep a sweet tone, “Dobby? Are you there?” She was attracting some odd looks from passersby’s but none of them had big green eyes. “Dobby!” She shrieked.

A crack and then she spun, ignoring the stares. Dobby was sitting inside the car, on her trunk in the back. Quickly, Ron and Persephone got back in the car in the front, spinning back to stare at the house-elf. “You weren’t kidding, he really is—”

“Dobby, what is the meaning of this?” Persephone asked.

Dobby answered guiltily, “Miss must not go back to Hogwarts!”

“Dammit,” She hissed, “Dobby, I have nowhere else to go.”

“There is a plot—”

“Yes, yes, there’s a plot and danger and all of that, yes, sure, whatever, I know!” She interrupted. “Dobby, could you please at least send Ron Weasley to Hogwarts?”

“Dobby knows sir will send for someone to come get Persephone Potter!” He cried, standing but bumping his head on the hood of the car. “And Persephone Potter must not to go to Hogwarts.”

“Okay,” She said, closing her mouth and intertwining her fingers in front of her lips. “Alright, okay, alright…” She took a deep breath. Could she deceive the poor bastard once more?

“Should I shove him in the sewers now?” Ron asked, glaring at the house-elf.

She raised her hand, “Wait.” She told him. “Alright, Dobby, I understand that there is…danger at Hogwarts. So, could you possibly…bring us to Hogsmeade?”

Dobby narrowed his eyes, “Miss wants to go to…Hogsmeade?”

She nodded, “Yes, and Ron too. Once we are there, Dobby, we will talk _personally_ with Albus Dumbledore about the danger you speak of. He is a great wizard and if he knows, no one will get hurt.” She said, trying her best to keep her voice shaking with anger. “Could you send us to Hogmeade so we can do that?”

“Miss…will talk with the great Albus Dumbledore?”

“We’ll mention how brave you are, Dobby, telling us this!” Ron interjected. “The great lengths you went to protect her from the danger. You’ll be a hero!”

Ron was brilliant.

Dobby was faltering, but then was set to determined, “Miss must promise!”

“I promise, Dobby,” She said, placing her hand on her heart. Then she offered her pinky, “If I take your pinky and vow it, then it is an unbreakable vow.” He gave her his tiny, weird textured pinky and she shook it. “Now, will you please take us and our things to Hogsmeade?”

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers and then suddenly, with a crack like a whip, and for a long moment, she felt as though she was air. The next second, she was sitting in the car still, but in a completely different setting.

Hogsmeade Village was not a place that looked familiar, for Persephone had never travelled there. Only third years and up were allowed to go to Hogsmeade during the school years and only with parental permission. She’d heard a lot about the place from Fred and George and even Cedric. It was apparently one of the only all wizarding villages in the UK. It was composed of cottages, shops and pubs. She knew of Zonko’s Joke Shop and Honeydukes, where the twins would bring her back sweets and show her pranks and such. 

“Wow!” Ron said, swaying just a tad but still amazed. “We’re just a few ways away from the Threebroomsticks! Fred got me some butterbeer once, and Lily, it was the best thing I’d ever tasted.”

“Butterbeer? Like…beer?”

“Better than that muggle stuff,” Ron said.

“Right,” Persephone got out of the car, disoriented. They were in front of what was called, ‘Hog’s Head Inn,’ written on a sign, advertising with a wild board’s severed head leaking blood onto the white cloth around it. Next to the door hung a sign, declaring that the sale of unicorn blood was forbidden, and that anyone who asked about it would be thrown out. “And…has George or Fred ever mentioned _this_ place?”

“Only that it isn’t a good place to be, most times,” Ron said, staring up at it. “Let’s go in.”

The inside was just as…questionable. It was very dirty with sawdust all about. The windows were nearly opaque and the floor was all but invisible with dirt. There was a strong smell of what might have been described as goats. The bar was very small and probably violating some health codes with how dirty it was—even the rags behind the bar were filthy. No wonder this wasn’t a good place to be.

Behind the bar was a wooden staircase, where she would have to assume lead up to the actual inn part. Somewhere upstairs, she heard a dim fire going. Whoever the owner was, he obviously was not fond of large amounts of people and obviously kept it this way for that reason.

“Bit young to be in here, aren’t you?” A voice suddenly said and the two gingers jumped.

The man who had spoken was tall and thin, with a great deal of long, stringy grey hair and beard. He was wearing dirty lensed spectacles and had on casual attire, and an apron. He leaned back against the bar, looking at them. Not in suspicion or interest, but like a barman did in the movies.

“Er…”

“I haven’t got much to offer to children, and I don’t want to get fined for giving minors Firewhiskey.” He said, wiping a glass with one of the dirty rags, making it dirtier, probably.

Ron suddenly did not want anything from this place and turned to Persephone, grimacing. She gulped, “Actually, we’re hoping for some directions—to Hogwarts.”

“Students, then?” He raised a brow. “On September 1st, you two should be on the train.”

“Right, well, yes,” She laughed nervously, “We should be, but we aren’t, so we were hoping for some directions to the castle?”

He chuckled, “Careful, wouldn’t want any strangers hearing their hero talking like that, would we?”

“Hero?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

He tutted, “Not everyone has a scar anything like yours, though I’ve seen people draw it on every Hallows’ Eve.” When she grimaced, he sighed, gesturing for them to come forward. He grabbed a napkin, which was surprising, that a place like this had napkins, and wrote on it. “You’re going to go up the street, take a left on the main road and go all the way until you hit the station. Follow the tracks until you hit the Black lake and then you’ll know where to go.” He slid the napkin to her and she memorized it.

“Er, thank you…”

He leaned back to his bar, tending to the sink, “Aberforth.”

She nodded, “Thank you, Aberforth,” She smiled, and dug in her book bag, taking out a galleon and placing it on the bar.

Once outside, they got back in the car, Ron in the driver’s seat. Ron pressed a tiny silver button on the dashboard and the car and everything inside the car, including themselves, vanished. She could feel the seat vibrating under her and hear the engine, but she couldn’t see them.

“Let’s go,” Ron’s voice came from her right, where he had been moments ago.

They were in a more familiar place, past the train station. They drove next to the tracks, finally recognizing some land. And then—

“There it is!” She shouted excitedly, making Ron, Salem jump. “Straight ahead!”

In the midafternoon sunlight, it was impossible to miss, high on the cliff over the lake, with its many turrets and towers. Hogwarts had not changed a bit but somehow, the sight of the castle after so long of not seeing it made it all that more beautiful.

But the car had begun to shudder, the engine making whining sounds. Persephone stared, concerned. Ron was saying something, “Almost there, almost there.” He was saying it more to the car than to them. Then all of a sudden, it started shuddering and picking up speed, heading straight for the Black Lake.

“Uh, Ron?” She spoke, gripping the edges of her seat.

The engine groaned. Narrow jets of steam were issuing from under the hood. The car gave a nasty wobble. And then suddenly—it jumped up. The car was flying and Ron didn’t seem to have any control of the wheel. Jolting in the air, it flew up high over the lake, shaking in the air. Ron’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, holding on as tight as he could.

And then, as he put his foot down even further, the car seemed to lose aerial and started tipping, its door coming unhinged. Fortunately, it was only one door. Unfortunately, the seat belt unclasped and the person next to the door slid out of the car completely. Fortunately, it was Persephone. Again fortunately, she landed in the lake.

She broke water quickly, being pulled down, further and further with momentum until she was floating down under the lake. It was cold but that was no bother to a born siren but then she realized—it was cold. She was not anywhere near the shallow end. She was in the middle of the lake, in the part that was deepest.

Persephone was unable to move for a moment, as her primal instincts took over and she felt too good being in the water to really want to move. She listened, for a moment, and heard a distant singing and her instincts changed from relaxed to territorial. She felt her fangs grow in her mouth and she couldn’t help the stinging in her legs—whatever was near was threatening her into her siren form.

Quickly, she drew away from the sounds, swimming farther down into the lake. She hit something that felt rather man-made and when she looked down and saw the Slytherin common room behind the glass. Okay if this was the Slytherin common room then the shore of the Great Lake would be just to her right?

She broke water a few seconds later, gasping and pushing herself forward to the shore. Stumbling out, she looked around for Ron. As if the car was waiting for her to break water, the nose of the car dropped. She watched, horrified, as the car fell out of the air, gathering speed, heading straight for the solid castle wall.

She screamed, and flung her hands out and the car seemed to react to the burst of wind she sent towards it because it missed the stone wall by inches as the car turned in a great arc, soaring over the dark greenhouses, then the vegetable patch, and then out over the black lawns, losing altitude all the time. She lost sight of it as it disappeared so she started running, just in time to catch sight of the car hitting a tree.

With an earsplitting bang of metal on wood, the car hit the thick tree trunk and dropped to the ground with a heavy jolt. Steam was billowing from under the crumpled hood; she could hear Salem snarling in terror; she kept running, the adrenaline pushing her forward and finally slid to the side of the car, falling as she did so.

“RON!?” She screeched.

“My wand!” Ron cried out.

“Are you okay!?” She cried, opening his door.

“My wand,” he repeated in a shaky voice. “Look at my wand—”

It had snapped, almost in two; the tip was dangling limply, held on by a few splinters. She didn’t care much for it, as she was ready to pull him out of the car as soon as she had verification that he hadn’t broken anything bad. Her own wand was still in her pulled up hair, now wet from her unplanned swim in the lake.

At that very moment, something hit the other side of the car with the force of a charging bull, causing Persephone to fall. The force had sent the car straight onto Persephone’s legs and she had the breath knocked out of her as she would have otherwise been screaming her lungs out.

Ron gasped, staring through the windshield, and Persephone looked around just in time to see a branch as thick as a python smash into it. The tree they had hit was attacking them. Its trunk was bent almost double, and its gnarled boughs were pummeling every inch of the car it could reach.

Another hit on the car, barely missing Persephone, sent the car off her. The car shot backwards, as if in reverse. The tree was still trying to get another hit in, but the car had sped off away. Ron had grabbed Persephone by the arm and pulled her into the car through the window. She could hear the roots of the tree creaking as it almost ripped itself up, lashing out at them as they sped out of reach.

“That,” Ron panted, pulling Persephone up properly and back into her seat. She was still unable to speak, for she was probably in shock. “was close. Well done, car—”

The car, however, had reached the end of its tether. With two sharp clunks, the doors flew open and Persephone felt her seat tip sideways. Next thing she knew, she was sprawled on the damp ground. Loud thuds told her that the car was ejecting their luggage from the trunk; Salem’s cage landed upside down, the cat meowing angrily.

Then, dented, scratched, and steaming, the car rumbled off into the forest, its rear lights blazing angrily.

“Come back!” Ron yelled after it, brandishing his broken wand. “Dad’ll kill me!” But the car disappeared from view with one last snort from its exhaust.

“Can you believe our luck?” Ron moaned miserably, bending down to pick up Scabbers. “Of all the trees we could’ve hit, we had to get one that hits back.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the ancient tree, which was still flailing its branches threateningly. Then, he finally glanced back at Persephone, who was lying back, unable to move her legs for fear of the pain. “Are you—oh no!”

She couldn’t look at him but he came next to her, bending down, “Your legs! They’re…” He sounded shocked but she didn’t really want to know. “Can you…walk?” He held his hands out for her and she stared at them before taking them.

She gasped, “HOLY SHIT WHAT THE HELL—” Were the only English cursed words she screamed. Ron had gone pale white by the time she was standing.

She had heard stories of people losing their legs because of severe damage to the leg. This definitely looked like severe damage to the legs. As she put her full weight on it, she felt it sting and then—crack!—her leg snapped almost into place. She had nearly forgotten that she broke every bone in her body every month and that breaking it back was a given thing—she was still covered in lake water. This must have triggered the snaps.

She felt it in her ankle, in her knee and even in her calf. It felt like things were snapping back together and she gasped, alerting Ron to basically have her lean on him, asking if he should go for help. And then—finally, beautifully, she felt something right in her ankle and a familiar soreness followed. Carefully, she stepped with her full body weight and only felt the expected soreness and aching.

“Okay—I’m fine.” She said. Ron was staring at her in horror. She tried to smile, “I have a potion, you know, for Qudditch injuries…it’s like cream…it mends injuries. I put it on every morning.” This was a lie. What the truth _actually_ was, was that she had planned on brewing a potion like that upon their arrival to school. “Come on, we’d better get up to the school…”

Ron, wary, nodded.

The castle was quiet, unlike the usual noise that came with September 1st. However, checking her watch, it was nearly three now. No one would be arriving for several hours. Carrying their trunks, they reached the great oak front doors and knocked. Persephone shrugged, “What else is there to do?”

As if truly and utterly down on their luck, Professor Snape appeared at the door. In his usual black robes, rippling in the breeze, he looked as he always did—thin, with sallow skin, a hooked nose and greasy, shoulder length black hair.

He barely looked at them, before saying, “Follow me.”

Persephone and Ron exchanged a look—oh no—before they followed Snape up the steps into the vast, echoing entrance hall. Currently, she saw many house-elves out and cleaning. Waxing the silver knight armors, polishing picture frames, even mopping with a shiny looking liquid. There was a faint smell of food coming from the kitchen but they did not go to the kitchens—Snape led them away from the preparation commotion, down a narrow stone staircase that led into the dungeons.

“In!” he said, opening a door halfway down the cold passageway and pointing.

They entered what could only be Snape’s office. The fireplace was dark and empty. An empty cauldron was stood in front of the fire place and there were shelves lining the walls, with large jars filled with a dark liquid that had unfamiliar things floating in them. Snape closed the door and turned to look at them.

“So,” he said softly, “Weasley, you’ve decided to one up your idiot brothers in foolish tricks, have you? Decided you were done living in their shadows and that you deserve some glory? And surely, flying a car into Hogwarts would earn you quite the reputation that you’re better than even your brothers’, hm?” He narrowed his eyes, “And dragging your loyal famous friend into it, too…surely you thought this would be quite the arrival, hm?”

Persephone’s mind blanked, “No, sir, please, it wasn’t—” As she spoke, she tried sitting forward but the soreness in her legs didn’t allow her to do so without wincing in pain.

His eyes followed where her hands grasped her legs and he came to kneel in front of her, examining the red and purple bruises forming all up her legs. He let his finger lightly graze her calf and when she cried out in pain, he stood, stepped out for barely two minutes, before returning.

“Madam Pomfrey has been summoned.” He said, now taking on a cold stare towards her, “Explain. Now.”

She took the lead—she explained from the very beginning, telling Snape about how a house-elf had showed up at her home, how it warned her not to return to Hogwarts, how it had come back again to keep her from crossing the barrier, how she had asked him to simply bring them to Hogsmeade. She explained how she hadn’t asked for him to bring the car but he had and they had no choice but to bring it and then it went haywire and sent her to the lake, Ron into a violent tree and then it had nearly crushed her legs before taking off.

“Where is the car now?” He asked after listening silently to her story. She felt something of relief in her chest—he believed her!

Ron tried to answer but Snape interrupted him.

“Silence!” Snape snapped coldly. “What have you done with the car?”

She shrugged helplessly, “It went off into the Forbidden Forest, I don’t know why.”

He lifted his chin, staring down at her, “You’ll find that muggle-made technology does not pan well with magic—who enchanted it to fly?”

She was quick to take the blame, “I built it.”

He raised a brow, “You…built a car.”

She nodded, “My friend’s mum, she’s a witch and a non-magical engineer. She taught me how to…and I thought it would be…funny.”

“You thought…it would be…funny,” He said coldly, staring down at her. Ron didn’t dare contradict her. “I have to assert that a considerable amount of damage has been done to a very valuable Whomping Willow,” Snape continued.

“That tree did more damage to us than we—” Ron blurted out.

“Silence!” snapped Snape again. “I believed that you were brighter than that!” Snape scolded her. “I have warned you of the company you insist on keeping and look how it has influenced you! Had you ever stopped to think of what would happen if someone had discovered your little experiment? The laws you were breaking?”

“Actually, I never intended to break the law,” She inserted. “I never planned on flying the car.”

“Well, how well has that panned out for you now?”

At that moment, Madame Pomfrey entered the room, followed by Professor McGonagall, the head of Gryffindor House. Persephone had seen Professor McGonagall angry on several occasions, but either she had forgotten just how thin her mouth could go, or she had never seen her this angry before. She raised her wand the moment she entered; Persephone and Ron both flinched, but she merely pointed it at the empty fireplace, where flames suddenly erupted.

“Explain,” she said, her glasses glinting ominously.

Persephone re-told the story and when she finished, she wasn’t too sure with what McGonagall thought of it.

“Why didn’t you send us a letter by owl? I believe you have an owl?” Professor McGonagall said coldly to Persephone.

“The house-elf wouldn’t let me—it just made the letter disappear.” She told her.

McGonagall’s mouth set in a way that Persephone knew meant she did not believe a word she had said, “Miss Potter, that may be the most ludicrous story I have ever heard from a student, and I taught your father.” Persephone felt her insides crumble.

There was a knock on the office door and Snape opened it. There stood the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore.

Persephone held onto hope—Dumbledore would surely believe her! Dumbledore was looking unusually grave. He stared down his very crooked nose at them and she held her breath. There was a long silence before Dumbledore said, “Please explain why you did this.”

Again, for the third time, she told the story—About Dobby’s first warning, blocking the barrier, not letting them send an owl, Apparating them and the car that she had built to Hogsmeade, and then the car going haywire.

“We’ll go and get our stuff,” Ron said with a note of hopelessness in his voice.

“What are you talking about, Weasley?” barked Professor McGonagall.

“Well, you’re expelling us, aren’t you?” said Ron.

Persephone was still watching Dumbledore. He sighed, “Not today, Mr. Weasley. I do not believe I’ve heard such exciting tales before, but as the evidence is against you, I must impress that lying about such a serious situation is cause for serious punishment. I will be writing to both your families tonight. I must also warn you that if you do anything like this again, I will have no choice but to expel you.” He looked to McGonagall, “Professor McGonagall, as they are students in your house, they are your responsibility. It will be for you to decide on the punishment. Now, I will stay until we get an all clear from Madame Pomfrey and then we shall all be on our ways.”

As he spoke, Madame Pomfrey had moved from Ron to Persephone. The healer raised her leg, examining them one by one, as Dumbledore listened. She was sure he would not believe her bit about building the flying car. Dumbledore asked no questions about the car. When she had finished, he merely continued to peer at them through his spectacles.

“Here, dear, place this to your chest, where your heart is,” Madame Pomfrey handed her a little silver looking thing that usually belonged to a stethoscope. She placed it to her heart after Madame Pomfrey turned a dial on it. She felt some sort of relaxing state as she touched the thing, as if her heart was set back to its normal pace. She assumed it must, as to check for any heart palpitations. Instead of having one person listened to her heart, the thing was not connected to anything. Madame Pomfrey held a similar looking circular thing that she placed on the desk.

The second she put the thing to her chest, over her heart, the other circular thing on the desk started blinking, fast, with added vibration. A fast and slushy sound came out of it, filling the silence. Madame Pomfrey seemed panicked at this and looked at Persephone, “Are you alright dear? Are you feeling any pain in this arm, here?” When Persephone shook her head, Madame Pomfrey checked her eyes to make sure they weren’t ‘blown’ and then proceeded to made her regulate her breathing. When the heart pace didn’t change she tried it out on herself, only to find it working properly.

“How…strange.” She said, after instructing her to put the circular part back to her chest. “Do you have any heart conditions, dear? Anything at all?”

Persephone shook her head.

“Have you ever felt lightheadedness or dizzy very suddenly? Ever passed out randomly or without cause?” She asked and Persephone, again, shook her head. Madame Pomfrey put her fingers against Persephone’s collarbone, feeling around. “No sign of a swollen thyroid…tell me, have you ever experienced any of the following?”

She listed off several symptoms—mood swings, fatigue, weakness, sensitivity to heat, losing weight without trying, very easily, bowel movements, shaking hands, sleep problems, changes in your menstrual cycle. She had no shame in listing any of these off and Persephone, blushing, replied with, “I guess…mood swings, yes, and I’ve always been skinny, so…my hands to tend to shake a lot, and sometimes I can’t sleep…I’ve had, um,” She glanced at the teachers, “Panic attacks…several.”

“Hm,” She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll need to see you often, to find out what’s going on. We may need to bring in a healer, for further inquiry. Now, let’s see those reflexes,” She pulled out a little thing that doctors used to hit your knee and she said, “Move onto the desk, will you? Relax your leg for me, dear.”

Persephone sat up on the desk, which made her feet not touch the ground, with Madame Pomfrey standing by her, “Now, normally, there should be a little kick, alright? Just relax for me, dear.” Persephone did just that and Madame Pomfrey made a light hit just below her knee and, without meaning to, as Persephone had no control of her movements, her leg bounced forward, kicking the chair hard into the wall, breaking the wooden chair into its pieces.

Everyone stared at this and Madame Pomfrey seemed to be concentrating, “Have you had any accidents recently?”

“No…?” She replied, wondering where this is going.

“Well, I don’t mean to alarm you but you’re showing signs of hyperthyroidism, which could also be a symptom of hyperreflexia…tell me, do you have aches in your joints? Any rashes? Any muscles spasms, or weaknesses? Headaches of any sort, thirstiness all the time, fevers, perhaps even some confusion here and there? Trouble concentrating?”

“Um, yes, but I don’t have any confusion or fevers. And I usually can’t concentrate because I have ADHD.”

She thought for a long moment before Snape asked, “Well is there something the matter with her?” He seemed genuinely concerned.

“It…seems, and now this is just a first impression diagnosis, but…Ms. Potter may be suffering from an undiagnosed illness—she’s showing several, serious symptoms of a hyperactive thyroid gland, electrolyte imbalance, serotonin syndrome and Reye syndrome, which could be the cause of a severe brain trauma or a spinal cord injury.” She spoke in all medical terms, in a soothing voice. Persephone didn’t understand any of the words she spoke.

“O…kay?” The adults all suddenly seemed very grim.

“Miss Potter, I will need for you to come see me every day, without fail,” Madame Pomfrey told her. “I’ll write you a letter of excuse to give to your professors to be excused from class. Until further notice, you won’t be attending any Quidditch practices or dance classes, am I being clear?”

Persephone gaped at her, “But—”

“Am I clear to you, Miss Potter?” She asked, most seriously. “These symptoms are nothing to be pushed aside for, especially not for Quidditch.”

McGonagall looked worse than Persephone felt. There was simply nothing wrong with her! Madame Pomfrey shared a look with Dumbledore, who took his leave with her. She thought Snape would feel good that she had privileges taken away but even he looked concerned.

Persephone piped up, “Professor, when we took the car, term hadn’t started, so—so Gryffindor shouldn’t really have points taken from it—should it?” she finished, watching her anxiously.

Perhaps it was because she might have a serious illness, or perhaps it was because she acted almost amusingly at the grim news, but she was sure she had almost smiled. Her mouth looked less thin, anyway.

“I will not take any points from Gryffindor,” she said, and Persephone’s heart lightened considerably. “But you will both get a detention.”

They were sent on their way to the Gryffindor tower then, both waiting until they got through the portrait of the Fat Lady, when Ron whistled, “I thought we’d had it,” He said, glancing at her almost carefully.

She rolled her eyes, “I’m not terminally ill, Ron.” She knew better than to think she was ill. She was a siren, and that obviously gave off some very strange symptoms. “Trust me.”

“How do you know? That stuff Pomfrey was talking about sounded serious,” He said.

She bit her lip—should she tell him? Would he react badly? “I—I’ll tell you later. When Hermione gets here—wanna play chess?” She said, changing the subject.

Ron, sensing there was something she wasn’t telling him, let her change the subject, “You promise? When Hermione gets here?” She nodded and he sighed, “Can we use your board? Mine got chipped from Gary trying to ride it down the stairs a few weeks ago.”

The common room was quiet. There dorms were empty. Persephone gladly took her bed, the usual bed, and made sure to make Hermione take the one next to hers. She was sure Hermione would take the same bed as last year, next to her on the right. The dorm was so much cozier than her bedroom back at Privet Drive. Despite sharing it with several other girls, it was more her style than anywhere else.

Each girl had a bed, a dresser and a desk with a chair. Each girl’s furnishings were in the middle of a tall, curved window, with the same red velvet drapes embroidered with gold detailing that their bed curtains had. The dorm gave off a certain…Victorian or Medieval royalty vibe. With stone walls, wooden floors and a centrally located fire in the middle of the room.

She unpacked her things, putting her stuff in the drawers of her dresser, then she organized her hair accessories and then she put her books on the desk, organizing those too. She hid away her jar of Mediterranean water in her trunk. She made sure everything was in its right place—non-magical clothing in one drawer, robes and uniform in another, shoes and undergarments together, her hair, makeup and bathroom necessities in another, and then her jewelry laid in the jewelry box on top of the dress.

Then she pulled out the diadem.

She held it in her hand without moving, surprised to find it still in her possession. Then she noticed the writing on it. Squinting, she read, ‘ _Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure.”_

Something clicked in the back of her head and she gasped—that was the motto for Ravenclaw. She had read about how Rowena Ravenclaw, the founder of Ravenclaw house, always wore her diadem. Was this a copy? What did it do?

She placed it on her head in front of the mirror and felt her head clear—‘ _You’re upset, because Professor Snape is the only one who believes you.’_

Jumping, she spun around, screaming, “Who!?”

The dorm room was empty. Had…she…hallucinated that? She turned back to the mirror and stared at the diadem. Acting foolishly, she asked, in her mind, _‘Hello?’_

_‘Hello.’_

Alright, she could actually have some brain damage but…it seemed the diadem was…talking to her. It was definitely not her inner voice speaking. And what had it said?

 _‘You’re upset, because Professor Snape is the only one who believes you.’_ The voice repeated in her mind.

 _‘Who…are you?’_ Persephone asked. It was strange talking in her head.

 _‘I am the imprint of Rowena Ravenclaw, I shed wisdom on the wearer, and I teach them,’_ a response came in her head. She suspicious—was it hearing all her thoughts? _‘I clear a mind, sharpen it like a knife, which allows for the wearer to find the answer to any question.’_

She was hooked on the words, ‘I clear a mind’. She sort of understood—it cleared her thoughts for her and, takin into account how she felt at the moment, made her emotions very transparent. She was upset at Dumbledore and amazed at the magic of the diadem.

And then, she became aware of her nerves, and the voice in her head continued, ‘ _You’re anxious about telling your friends about your bloodline.’_ She pursed her lips, thinking that she was considering speaking with Hades once she got a chance. _‘But he is with the Malfoys now. He can’t be trusted. Trust yourself. Your friends are trustworthy.’_

She blinked hard and had to sit down.

Okay so, the diadem on her head, made her mind clear. It sorted her thoughts out and eased her confusion by giving her the answers she already had. It was her better mind?

 _Yes_.

Well, that’s…convenient. And…and it only worked when it was on her head?

 _Or in another form, such as around your neck. There is a spell for that, I’m sure_.

Persephone raised a brow at herself in the mirror. Is the diadem always in her mind?

_Only when I am needed._

How would one be able to notify that the diadem is needed?

 _Perhaps a question would be a good call upon_.

Right. Sure.

As sketchy as this appeared, she was impressed with the magic. And she was tempted—how useful would it be to never question why she felt one way or another?

_Very useful._

She rolled her eyes. Alright…

“You’re an imprint of Rowena Ravenclaw, herself? As in, I’m speaking to her right now?” She asked out loud. There came nothing. She asked once more, repeating the question in her mind, and then came a clear answer in her head:

_I am the imprint of wisdom. Every person who wears this diadem has left behind their own imprint, replacing the previous owner. It allows for something very few have—perspective. The wisdom always remains untouched and safe from being poisoned by the wearer._

‘So…you have a name. You were once a person?’

_The wearer before yourself is my own imprint, yes._

‘So, you have a personality then?’

_I do._

‘Huh,’ She thought. ‘You mentioned before about wearing the diadem in a different way. How do I make the diadem into a necklace? With Transfiguration?’

_Are you inclined towards wandless magic or wand magic?_

Persephone’s eyes widened—did Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem know wandless magic? Could it teach _her_?

_I do and I can, but you must be of a ready mind._

Persephone was very much a ready mind.

_Very well then._

The incantation appeared in her mind almost immediately and she smiled to herself—it was so simple!

The incantation appeared in her mind almost immediately and she smiled to herself—it was so simple!

Staring at the mirror, she raised her hands and, concentrating on the diadem, she felt a cool connection between her hands and the tiara. It was almost as if though they were able to connect the magic and then, muttering the incantation, it slimmed down, the jewels almost melting into the material before it shrunk and fit on her head, behind her ears.

She grinned at herself in the mirror—she looked good.

_Persephone Lilith Potter—what shall I call you?_

Persephone thought for a moment. Shouldn’t it already know what she liked being called, if it knew her mind?

_I do, but you are my owner now. I must comply._

That made sense, so she thought, Persephone is fine.

_Very well._

She asked, in her mind, simple questions—was the diadem self-aware of things going on around it or did it need an owner?

_I need a wearer, of course. Alas, it has felt as though ages has gone by without a wearer. I see inside your mind, but please, do tell me about yourself._

‘Wouldn’t you know everything about me already, being in my head?’ She pondered.

_I do. An awkward acquaintance that would be, simply knowing everything about you, wouldn’t you agree? Please, tell me about your family._

She thought that made sense.

‘Well—I don’t have much family. I’m an orphan, you see, and my parents died when I was very young.’

_Oh, I’m sorry to hear. I won’t ask further on the topic._

She almost smiled, ‘It’s alright—they died when I was very young. I was brought up by my mother’s sister and her husband. I have a cousin, and he’s a spoiled, mean kid. They’re non magical, you see, and never mentioned a thing about my parents. They told me they died in a car crash, other times they told me they abandoned me. They’re not the greatest, as they lock me up in a cupboard under the stairs, get very angry with the simplest of things concerning me and have a habit of starving me.’

_My word, Persephone, I’m so very sorry to hear of this abuse!_

‘Well…I’m not sure about abuse,’ but of course it was abuse, for what else could it be? It certainly wasn’t well-meaning. They simply hated her. ‘But my aunt does treat me nicely some days. She brushes my hair and always brings fresh flowers to my bedroom, when no one else is home, of course.’

_I’m surprised to find we have many similarities—I was also an orphan and I was raised without knowing of my magical heritage._

‘I’m sorry to hear that, though I sometimes wished I lived in an orphanage rather than with the Dudleys. I have no doubt they feel the same way. Sometimes I wonder why they never did put me in an orphanage.’

_Perhaps they care for you in ways that are unhealthy. Some people show love in the most twisted of manners, hurting the person they love in ways that are inexcusable._

Persephone thought of that—she could believe that.

_Please, tell me more. What do you look like?_

She smiled, ‘Oh, people tell me I look exactly like my mum. I have long, curly dark red hair and pale skin which burns very easily, unfortunately. My eyes are really cool though—one is green like my mums and the other is blue like my dad’s. My dad was Spanish but I don’t look it a bit, unfortunately.’

_Well, I hope this is not too forward of me, but you sound like a very beautiful young lady, Persephone._

She smiled to herself in the mirror.

‘Not forward—thank you. I guess being a siren has its perks, right?’

_Well they must, shouldn’t they? Sirens, I know, are very persuasive—do you have the power of persuasion?_

‘I’m not sure,’ she frowned. ‘Maybe?’

_Well, we could certainly find out, couldn’t we? Now tell me, what is the date?_

‘It’s September 1st, 2010. Why? What year did you wear the diadem?’

_Why, time flies! When I wore the diadem, it was only 1960!_

She gasped, ‘You must tell me everything!’

Her mind was then filled with information—she was lost in facts about the cold war, of prime ministers and or presidents, of a plane carrying rugby team crashing into Wales, of so, so, so many things, ranging from 1950 to 1960.

‘Wow…that’s…wow.’

_But tell me, what has happened now, in the present day? I don’t know anything that’s going on in the world unless someone puts me on and thinks of current issues._

‘Ah, well…’ What could she tell him? She didn’t know much. She barely read any recent things, because they all her name in it, or her synonym—the Girl Who Lived.

_The Girl Who Lived? Why do they call you that?_

‘Oh…well, because I’m a bit…famous?’ She didn’t want to seem boastful but she truly hated her celebrity status, especially as it comes from something she didn’t really do. ‘When I was a baby, my parents didn’t just die. They were murdered. The man who murdered my parents tried to murder me but somehow, his spell backfired and killed him instead. He was called Voldemort but everyone calls him You-Know-Who.’

Perhaps she was imagining it but she could almost feel the diadem taking a pause to assemble its words.

_My, that is…different. I cannot say I have ever heard such a story…and for you to come out completely unscathed…_

‘Well not completely. I have a scar on my head, where the curse hit me and rebounded on him.’ She said, brushing a hand through her hair.

_And why is it that the curse rebounded? Do you know?_

She shrugged to herself, curling up into a ball, ‘Honestly, I hate talking about it so…’

_Ah, well, of course, no doubt you do…but may I ask, why is it this…Voldemort…why is it he was not called by his true name?_

Persephone didn’t need to think for this, ‘People were afraid of him. He was a terrorist and he killed so many people.’

_And yet he couldn’t kill you…fascinating. And where has this Voldemort gone now?_

‘No one really knows,’ She thought, ‘He’s not fully dead, I don’t think.’

_I see…_

‘I hate thinking about it. I mean, I’m famous for something I don’t even remember doing, you know?’ She sighed, ‘No offense but I’m starving.’

_Of course. I’ll be here if you need me._

Nothing quite as interesting as coming upon the diadem happened that day or evening, other than the diadem guiding her to victory in several games of chess against Ron, who couldn’t understand how she’d gotten so good.

They were sitting in the Great Hall a good hour or so before the feast began, simply predicting what sort of Quidditch team Oliver would produce this year. Ron was sure that she wouldn’t be kicked off but Persephone wasn’t too sure. Finally, _finally_ , the rest of the Hogwarts students arrived. The Gryffindors were surprised to find Ron and Persephone there, sitting as if though they’d been at school for hours. Somehow, news had spread from an unknown source that Persephone Potter and Ron Weasley had flown a car to Hogwarts.

Of course, no one was interested in the story of what had actually happened, so Persephone gave up trying to explain.

It was a relaxing atmosphere—she’d been in this room for the first time this time last year, ready to be sorted into her own house. Up in front of the tables, on an old, wooden stool, sat the famous Hogwarts Sorting Hat.

Every year, the hat was placed upon the heads of new students on September 1st and it sorted through their minds, deciding in which how they would fit in best. The four houses were Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. She didn’t expect to be put in Gryffindor, for her belief that she wasn’t brave. And it was still true—she wasn’t brave. She was very disappointed to find she wasn’t put in Slytherin. She was surprised, now, to find she was still upset over it.

Despite the house producing the most amount of dark witches and wizards then any other house, she knew she belonged there more than anywhere else—she was ambitious and intelligent. The Sorting Hat had been wrong to place her in Gryffindor—amongst other things.

Persephone’s eyes wandered past the Sorting Hat to where Professor Dumbledore sat waiting for the Sorting to begin from the staff table, his long silver beard and half-moon glasses shining brightly in the candlelight. Several seats along, Persephone saw, with great dismay, Gilderoy Lockhart, dressed in robes of aquamarine. And there at the end was Hagrid, smiling at the returning students. He caught Persephone’s eye and waved.

The twins took their places next to Ron, in front of Persephone and Hermione caught up with them, sliding into the seat next to Persephone. When Hermione demanded the story of had happened, she told her she would tell her later, and that she had something to tell Ron and Hermione about, when they were alone in the common room.

Overhead, the bewitched ceiling, which always mirrored the sky outside, sparkled with stars. Innumerable candles were hovering in midair above the tables. The four, long tables were crowded very quickly—people waved at Persephone, whispering and pointing. It seemed being famous never got old. The golden plates and goblets appeared suddenly, making Persephone sure that the Sorting would begin soon. Thank god for it—she was starving.

Finally, the first-years piled in, led by Professor McGonagall. They all looked nervous and small, fidgeting here and there. Persephone had to feel bad—she was once one of them. From the group, she could easily spot Gary, with his fiery red hair.

“The Sorting Hat spends all year coming up with a new song,” Fred whispered, leaning towards Persephone. “This should be good.”

The Sorting Hat began:

_A thousand years or more ago  
When I was newly sewn,  
There lived four wizards of renown,  
Whose names are still well known:  
  
Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,  
Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,  
Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,  
Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.  
  
They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,  
They hatched a daring plan  
To educate young sorcerers  
Thus Hogwarts School began.  
  
Now each of these four founders  
Formed their own house, for each  
Did value different virtues  
In the ones they had to teach.  
  
By Gryffindor, the bravest were  
Prized far beyond the rest;  
For Ravenclaw, the cleverest  
Would always be the best;  
  
For Hufflepuff, hard workers were  
Most worthy of admission;  
And power-hungry Slytherin  
Loved those of great ambition.  
  
While still alive they did divide  
Their favourites from the throng,  
Yet how to pick the worthy ones  
When they were dead and gone?  
  
Twas Gryffindor who found the way,  
He whipped me off his head  
The founders put some brains in me  
So I could choose instead!  
  
Now slip me snug about your ears,  
I've never yet been wrong,  
I'll have a look inside your mind  
And tell where you belong!_

When the clapping for the Hat died down and Professor McGonagall announced the beginning, the Sorting began. Fred and George caused a lot of ruckus, yelling out their predictions for the kid under the hat. When they got it wrong, they started booing. It was very comical.

This game continued until a girl of familiar golden, stringy hair appeared, her name being called as, “Selene Lovegood.”

Oh. Persephone paled—this girl knew of her affiliations with the water, knew her darkest secret and could tell anyone. She came up to sit on the stool, seeming completely relaxed and before the Hat even touched her head, it shouted, “RAVENCLAW!”

Persephone knew of quick sortings, but she had never heard of someone being sorted before the hat even touched your head. The girl skipped to her house’s table, sitting happily. Persephone followed her with her eyes, wondering if she would recognize Persephone for who she was. She had red hair now, and legs, but could she discern her as the fish-girl?

As she worried about this, a familiar name was called, “Weasley, Gareth!”

She snapped her head to Ron’s little brother, waiting with bated breath. The other Weasleys were at the edges of their seats. After about thirty seconds, the Sorting Hat bellowed, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The cheers Fred and George let out were louder than any one of the other Gryffindors. Gary, flushing a deep red, took a seat next to Percy. After him, there were only three girls and a boy left and then Dumbledore stood and made his speech, “Another year is upon us! It is a cause for celebration, for the beginnings of new friendships and experiences that you will all remember for as long as you live! But there are times when words must be spoken and others when they are not needed—so, tuck in!”

As soon as he spoke the last three words, food filled the golden plates with a large assortment of vegetables, meats and drinks. Persephone grabbed for the mashed potatoes, passing the peas to Hermione. Conversation changed to different subjects of everyone’s summers. Persephone pursed her lips, staring over at the Slytherin table, looking for a specific, irritating boy.

“Lils?” George snapped his fingers in front of her face and she started.

She got out of her seat, and hurried over to the Slytherin table, in a semi-crouch run movement, as not to stand out too much. She stepped over the bench and sat with one leg under the table, the other between tables.

Several Slytherins around her stared but she ignored them, plucking the book out of Hades’ hands. He let it go easily, as if though he wasn’t actually reading it and simply using it as a way to avoid social interactions. He stared at her and she smiled, “Hello.”

“Did you kill someone?” He asked immediately.

She snickered, “No.”

“Then why are you here?” He asked, grabbing the book back.

She crossed her arms, “Wanted to know if we could meet tomorrow morning.”

“Why?” He raised a brow, glancing at the people still staring.

“Because,” She said. “Also—Slytherin? Really?”

“Are you all that surprised?” He raised a brow and she shrugged, making a face.

“Fair enough.” She knocked on the table, “See you.”

She returned to her table with no issue, thank god Percy hadn’t seen her, else she would have gotten a lecture. However, she knew at some point she would be given a lecture from him, as people kept coming up to her, congratulating her and Ron for flying a car.

“You’re not telling me you did fly here?” Hermione said, when the fourth person came to them. She pursed her lips innocently. “You didn’t!” She gasped, “Lily that was dangerous!”

“Well, we’re alright, so,” She shrugged, being interrupted when Lee Jordan yelled,

“Brilliant! Inspired! What an entrance! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow, people’ll be talking about that one for years—”

“Why couldn’t we’ve come in the car, eh?” Fred asked, making Ron scarlet in the face. Percy was staring to notice the commotion around their arrival and was starting to get up.

She bumped Ron in the shoulder and gestured to his brother. He got the message and dropped his fork. Dessert had been served and people could leave now so they got up, making it a scene of how tired they were.

Several people joined, and she was sure there would a party in the Gryffindor common room—Gryffindors partied for any small occasion. Hermione followed, and Persephone linked their arms.

“What is it you wanted to tell us?” Hermione asked. Persephone hummed nervously.

“Once we’re alone.”

Instead of following the masses of people into the Gryffindor tower, they took a left and headed up the stairs to one of the empty classes.

“Okay…so…” She took a deep breath. Where to start? _At the beginning_. She had nearly forgot she was wearing a talking diadem—well, hairpiece, now. “So, Hermione, you remember my…breakdown last year?” Hermione nodded slowly. “Well, Ron, last year—I had a mental breakdown.”

“I got that,” Ron said, his eyes wide.

She took a deep breath, “Well, it was actually caused by was…the full moon.”

Ron blinked and Hermione frowned, “You’re a werewolf?” They asked in unison.

“What?” She asked, “No, I’m not—I have what’s called the siren gene—one of my parents passed it down to me and I don’t know which one but I know that one of them had it.” She rambled. “So…yeah.”

“So…you’re a siren?” Ron asked. “Like you have a tail if you touch water?”

“No,” She said, “Only on full moons.”

“That’s…so cool.” Ron breathed. Persephone let out a nervous laugh.

Hermione was not as impressed, “Don’t sirens…drown men?”

“What?” Ron’s voice broke. Hermione rolled her eyes as he gulped loudly.

“You’re not a man, Ronald!” Hermione cried, “Lily, you’ve been going through full moons alone for almost a year?”

“Are you going to kill me?” Ron asked, staring at her with wide eyes.

She blinked, “No! No, I don’t want to kill anyone—I just, um, get dehydrated…a lot. I also get rashes and…and sometimes, I might jump into the Lake, but that’s normal.”

They stared at her, before Hermione nodded, “Right…”

“So, all those symptoms from before?” She told Ron. “Those are just symptoms that I have because I’m a siren. You know, rashes, fast heart, really good reflexes—all of that.”

Ron’s eyes widened, “Oh no! They can’t know, can they? They’ll freak out and kick you out!”

She nodded wearily, “I know.”

“Go to Dumbledore,” Hermione suggested.

Ron turned to her, “Is that your answer to everything? She’ll get kicked out of school!” Ron told her.

“No way, Dumbledore will find a way to help her.”

“I’m not going to Dumbledore,” Persephone said quickly. “Look, just—don’t tell anyone, alright?”

“Obviously—we’re not stupid.” Ron said. “I have questions though.”

So, to her relief, it went a lot better than she could have imagined. The diadem was right—er, sorry, hairpiece. She realized before bed that she had never asked for the name—what’s your name?

And then she felt her mind blur and then clear once more, and she saw the name that came to her mind, _‘Tom’._


	5. Another First Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very close to the original script, unfortunately, but it is different. Enjoy :)

Persephone was really looking forward to the first day of lessons. 

She was up early, showered by half-past five. She dried her hair and put some gel in it to make it her naturally curly ringlets of red silk. She pushed her diadem back into her hair and tied her loose red Gryffindor western bowtie over her light silk button up and decided against tights and instead pulled up some calf length black socks, slipping into simple, shiny black flats. She pulled on her wrist-length over-cloak with the Gryffindor crest of a lion on the left. She was glad for the very diverse pick of over-robes. She would not survive with the long, winter cloaks.

“How do I look?” She whispered.

 _Like a spiffing young witch_.

She smiled.

‘Thanks Tom.’

She grabbed her ready packed bag and basically ran down the stairs, making her way through the common room, passed all the hungover seventh years from the party the night before. She wished them luck with the headache she had heard was promised with morning afters and exited the portrait.

She jumped when she found Ben waiting. She gave him a one over as he straightened from the wall he was leaning up against—he, again, looked…neater than usual. Or maybe not—just sharper? He was wearing the school white button up with the Slytherin tie. He had pushed the sleeves up to his elbows and he had black suspenders on with silver clasps. He had his book bag up crossed over one shoulder and over his head, his outer robes folded over his arm. He was twirling his wand with his long, thin, piano hands and she had to steady herself, catching her breath.

He noticed her as she caught herself and nodded at her, “What’s up Potter?”

It was refreshing to find their relationship untouched by the rivalry between Slytherin house and Gryffindor house. He took her bag and they walked side-by-side as Persephone asked, “I didn’t see you get sorted last night?”

“Mm, didn’t get sorted,” He said simply, “I got to pick my house.”

“Lucky!” She pouted. “But you didn’t pick Gryffindor!?” She gasped, “Why?”

He frowned at her in confusion, “Didn’t you say last year you wanted to be sorted into Slytherin?”

“Yeah but you could have chosen to be with the twins and me,” She said and almost faltered with the latter person.

He snickered, “Well, I didn’t really have much of a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice. There is always a choice.”

“Not everyone has that luxury,” He countered and she made a pft, sound, “My entire biological family was in Slytherin.”

“So you _have_ to be in Slytherin?” She raised a brow.

He rolled his eyes, “Where else would I go?” She stared at him and he said, “All the Weasleys are in Gryffindor.”

“That’s…”

“Not different at all, right?”

She pursed her lips, and changed the subject, “So, last night I told Ron and Hermione about me.”

“About…you?” He paused, freezing in his walk. “Like…moon?”

“Yes, moon,” She smiled. “And they took it really great, too.”

“Hermione…?”

“Hermione Granger?” She raised a brow. “Second year Gryffindor that I hang out with most of the day? Like every day?”

“Hm,” He thought, “Never heard of her.”

They reached the main corridor and Persephone pushed herself up on the higher beams, leaning on the opposite wall, “So what’s the deal with Malfoy?”

Hades leaned against the wall she was sitting up on, resting his head on her knee, “Could you be a little more specific?”

She crossed her arms, “Why didn’t you tell me they were the ‘biological family’?”

“Ah,” He nodded, “Anyway, how come Madame Pomfrey asked me to shadow you?”

“Excuse me, you cannot just ignore a question like that.” She tilted her head to look at him.

“You’re excused,” He smirked a crooked grin up at her and she glowered. “And I’m not ignoring the question. I just chose to not answer it.”

“That sounds a lot like ignoring the question to me,” She countered.

He shrugged, “Well then, okay, yes I can ignore the question.” She stared at him for a long moment and he inclined his head towards her, meeting her eyes with a grin. “So why is Madame Pomfrey asking me to shadow you?”

She leaned against the wall, “I can just ignore that question, too, then,” She said, crossing her arms.

He shrugged, “Alright.”

They remained silent for a good two minutes before she finally sighed, “She thinks I have some illness or another—”

“Yeah, hyperactive thyroid gland, electrolyte imbalance, serotonin syndrome and Reye syndrome, severe brain trauma, spinal cord injury—do you think that’s because of your scar?” He asked, staring at her forehead, making a play to poke it.

She smacked his hand away, “No, it isn’t—wait why do _you_ know this?”

“I’m the student representation of the hospital wing,” He showed her a pin stuck to his robes in hands. It had a little Hermes staff on it. “How do you not know this? I was the one who took care of those wounds last year?”

“Uuuh…” She did remember something Dumbledore had said sometime last year, after the whole Stone incident. “Sure.”

“Yeah, so how come?”

“Because she thinks—” Hades cut her off.

“She thinks you have a disease, yes, we covered that,” He said impatiently, “Why does she think that you have a disease?”

“Oh, um,” She pressed her lips together, “Yesterday, me and Ron got into…an accident and she had to check us out.”

“What kind of accident?” He furrowed his brows.

She looked away, “We, uh, got teleported by a house-elf to that village near school—Hogsmeade—and then we also have a car that flies and it went crazy and flew us into a very violent tree after tossing me into the lake.”

“…right…” He nodded.

“Right,” She nodded.

“So I have to pull you out of class because you crashed a flying car into a violent tree?”

“I guess,” She sighed. “I’m starved.” She jumped down from the ledge and underestimated the height. She fell on her knees and Hades laughed.

She glared up at him and he pursed his lips, “Fish legs.”

“Shut up.”

They walked to the Great Hall together and Hades turned, “Where are you going?”

She had been following him to the Slytherin table. She raised a brow, “Er, to sit with you?”

“At the Slytherin table?”

She snickered, “There’s no one even here.”

He looked around, and looked worried, “I’m not that hungry so I should actually go.”

“But—”

“Later,” He said, striding out of the Great Hall. She watched him go, almost regretfully. She had been looking forward to just talking to him.

Persephone only started eating when the Great Hall started filling. Hermione took a seat next to her, opening her copy of Voyages with Vampires while Ron sat across from them. The four long house tables filled with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling (today, a dull, cloudy gray). She pilled eggs and bacon on her plate and several spoonfulls of little fruits, drowning her eggs with maple syrup.

Hermione made a face at this and Persephone stuck her tongue out at her. At that moment, Neville Longbottom greeted the three cheerfully. Neville was a round faced and accident prone boy with the worst memory of anyone Persephone had met—he had told her last year of a crush her had had on her. It seemed he was still a little embarrassed by it, as he blushed when he met Persephone’s eyes.

“Mail’s due any minute—I think Gran’s sending a few things I forgot.”

As the rushing sound above them signalled the arrival of the owls with mail, Persephone noticed several whispers behind her. She looked around and found several of what looked like first years, all standing some distance away, all staring at Persephone. They were whispering amongst themselves excitedly. It was not just Gryffindors but several Ravenclaw and Hufflepuffs as well.

She turned in her seat and raised a sharp brow, “Yes?”

They all jumped, staring at her and she flashed her eyes at them—they ran pretty quickly at that. Then she realized what she had just done and she turned so quickly, her hand knocked over a jug of milk, spilling it all over Hermione’s book, which was used to keep the book up.

“What—Lily!?” She cried in surprise, snatching her book up and crying out in disgust. She looked a Lily, who was putting her head down. “Lily?”

“My eyes, ‘Mione! I can’t—I can’t control them!” She hissed, glancing up at Hermione, who gasped and pulled her wand out.

“What do I do!?” She whispered frantically.

“I don’t—”

Then she was splashed with water. She blinked, looking up and seeing Ron standing, an empty water jug in hand. He was reaching over the table and blinked.

“Ron!?”

“Oh, good, Ron!” Hermione said, looking at her eyes.

Then everyone around them was looking and Hermione, loudly said, “Nice thinking on putting that—fire out Ron!”

Persephone was blinking through the water in her eyes and she nodded, “Yes, good thinking.”

“What happened?” Ron whispered to Hermione, who shrugged, looking at Persephone in concern.

Persephone had no idea what had happened—she stared long and hard at her hands, her long fingers and her sharp nails. She clenched her hands into fists and felt a sting in her palms—then she looked up, “I’m good.”

Was she?

“What just happened, Lily?” Hermione asked, leaning in.

She shrugged. Through the sudden and quick chaos, she had not noticed the owls swooping in. Something large and gray fell into Hermione’s lap, causing her to scream. This allowed her a needed distraction because, truthfully, she had no idea what had just happened.

“Errol!” Ron cried, grasping the owl by the feet. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak.

“Oh, no—” Ron gasped, taking the envelope.

“It’s all right, he’s still alive,” Hermione said, prodding Errol gently with the tip of her finger.

“It’s not that—it’s that.”

Ron was pointing at the red envelope. Persephone winced—oh this wouldn’t be good. She had heard several Howlers all last year from other students, two of which were from the twins.

“You’d better open it, Ron,” Neville said in a timid whisper. “It’ll be worse if you don’t. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and”—he gulped—“it was horrible.” As if to prove Neville’s point, the letter began to smoke at the corners.

“Open it,” Neville urged. “It’ll all be over in a few minutes—”

Ron reached out with a shaking hand, taking the envelope from Errol’s beak and slowly, eased it open. Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears and Persephone leaned away. It exploded with a roar filling the huge hall, and it had begun:

“—STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY’D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON’T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE—”

As expected, Mrs. Weasley’s yells were amplified a hundred times, making all nearby plates and spoons rattle on the table, as if though an earthquake were approaching. The loud chatter fell silent as people looked for the victim of this verbal abuse and Ron sank so low in his seat that he was basically under the table, his crimson red forehead visible by a sliver.

“—LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN’T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND LILY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED—”

Persephone closed her eyes, silently praying this would be over sooner than later.

“—ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED—IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE’LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME.”

A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ron’s hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Persephone stared at it as Ron was stunned. Gradually, the little amount of laughter died down and the loud chatter broke out once more.

_Well that was certainly not a good start to the first day, hm?_

Tom was right, it certainly wasn’t.

Hermione raised a brow, “I’m not sure what you expected, Ron, but you—”

“Don’t tell me I deserved it,” Ron snapped, sitting up properly once more. Why were they always bickering?

_Your friends are quite hostile towards each other. Why do you believe that is?_

‘Probably because they’re so different,’ she thought, glancing down the Gryffindor table; Professor McGonagall was handing out schedules.

 _Perhaps…or perhaps they simply do not know how to handle certain emotions…they are immature, are they not?_ Tom continued in her mind.

She was skeptical, ‘Emotions…what, like they like each other?’

_Anything is possible._

Persephone accepted her schedule and found she had been put in the same Gryffindor group again, thank heavens.

And first…Herbology with the Hufflepuffs. She hoped Susan would be a part of these Hufflepuffs.

“Ready?” Persephone asked the two.

They left the castle together, crossing the vegetable patch and headed towards the greenhouses, where the magical plants were grown and kept. They met with the rest of the class, who were all crowded by the greenhouses. Persephone greeted Susan with a kiss on both cheeks and Hannah the same. They chatted on their schedules, complaining together on having potions with the Slytherins again. Persephone adored Potions, but being put with Draco Malfoy’s group of Slytherins was not her favorite.

_I, too, enjoyed Potions in my day. Does Professor Horace Slughorn still teach Potions? He did when I attended Hogwarts._

‘No, it’s Professor Snape, now. Were you in Ravenclaw house?’

_No I was not. I was sorted into Slytherin house._

Suddenly, she became excited, “Really!?”

Hermione and Ron looked at her and she quickly realized she had spoken out loud. She twisted her face, making it horrified and for good reason—Professor Sprout was striding into view of the rest of the students, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart.

Susan came to stand by Persephone, grasping her hand excitedly, “He’s more handsome in person!”

“Right,” She rolled her eyes.

“Oh no,” Ron moaned, rolling his eyes.

Professor Sprout’s arms were full of bandages, and with another twinge of guilt, Persephone spotted the Whomping Willow in the distance, several of its branches now in slings.

Could there be anything worse than Lockhart on her first day?

_Is that the man of whom annoys you so much?_

She was not very nice to Lockhart in her mind and Tom was familiar with the turn in her mind at the sight of him—he was dressed in sweeping robes too nice for the grounds, in a color of vivid turquoise, his golden hair under a perfectly positioned matching turquoise hat with gold trimming. Next to him, Professor Sprout’s usual demeanor looked worse. She was a squat little witch how wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair and as was usual, she had a large amount of dirty on her clothes and under her nails.

“Why, a good morning to you all!” He cried out, beaming at the assembly of students. “Oh, don’t mind your professor’s tardiness—I was just showing Professor Sprout the proper way to tend to a Whomping Willow. But don’t start any rumours, now! I don’t want you running away with the idea that I’m better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels…”

Susan looked just about ready to faint from being so close to the man.

“Greenhouse three today, chaps!” Professor Sprout announced, looking very irritated, a juxtaposition of her normally cheerful self.

That sparked an interest amongst the students. They had only ever worked in greenhouse one before—greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door.

Persephone had to pull Susan along, as she was stunned in place, staring in awe at Lockhart. However, before she could take a step, Lockhart intercepted, “Ah, Persephone Potter! I’ve been meaning to have a word with you. You don’t mind if she’s only a few minutes late, do you Professor Sprout?”

“Actually—”

“That’s the ticket!” He said. He shot Susan an uncomfortably shiny smile and gestured for Persephone to follow. “Come along, Persephone, wouldn’t want to waste any time!”

Persephone, cringing, left her friends regretfully, following along slowly.

He stopped a good few feet away from the greenhouses.

“Ah, there is no such thing as privacy when you are a celebrity, I shall tell you that,” He told her, sighing rather dramatically. “Of course, nothing you ought to worry about—I don’t encourage this little fame snowball you’ve started for yourself. It’s terrible for publicity.”

“Uh, what?”

“I heard, of course. I blame myself for this spasm of behavior.”

She had not a clue of what behavior he was talking about.

“I cannot say that I am surprised. I infected you with a craving for publicity and now you’re acting out for attention. I can see it a mile away—and pulling a stunt like you did, why it was so clear to me. Flying a car to Hogwarts!

It was remarkable how he could show every one of those uncomfortably white teeth even when he wasn’t talking.

“You got the front page with me and it gave you a thrill, eh? Needed more of the feeling so you did the biggest thing you could think of.”

“What?” She raised a brow, “No, sir, I—”

“Now, now,” He said, reaching out to grasp her shoulder. She looked down at it, thinking about whether or not biting it off her was such a good idea.

_Most definitely not a good idea._

“Of course I understand, my dear girl! It’s only normal to have such a stunt go straight to your head—and I blame myself for giving you that first feeling—but that is no excuse for flying cars to get yourself attention. It’s not tasteful. If anything, it gives you a bad reputation. Just calm down for now, alright? Plenty of time for all that when you’re older. Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking! ‘It’s all right for him, he’s an internationally famous wizard already!’ But when I was twelve, I was just as much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, I’d say I was even more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven’t they? All that business with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!” He glanced at the lightning scar on her forehead. “I know, I know—it’s not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award five times in a row, as I have—but it’s a start, Persephone, it’s a start.”

Was this man intoxicated just like this naturally?

“I’d be happy to coach you myself, but only with a promise you do not pull a stunt like this again, you hear me?” He raised his brows—his suspiciously well plucked brows.

He shook her shoulder and turned her around, “But first and foremost—school! Get to class, my dear!”

Persephone stood stunned, staring at the greenhouse with her mouth open. Had she just hallucinated that entire thing or was she the one intoxicated? Was there something in the orange juice that morning at breakfast?

She opened the door and slid inside, catching a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. She took her spot amongst her Gryffindor and Hufflepuff friends, listening to what Professor Sprout was saying. There were about twenty different colored ear muffs lying on the bench that Professor Sprout was standing behind in the center of the greenhouse.

She only caught the end of her attendance call and started, “We’ll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?”

Together, Tom and Persephone both thought, ‘ _A powerful restorative used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed into their normal state of being.’_

However, Hermione was the one picked to answer this, “Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative. It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state.” Hermione had a talent of memorizing textbook passages to recite. She was sure she dreamt in textbook passages.

“Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor,” Professor Sprout said and Persephone grinned at Hermione. “The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?”

This time, Persephone was called upon, “The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it.”

“Very good, Ms. Potter—take ten points to Gryffindor,” Professor Sprout said. “Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young.”

She gestured to the row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in color, were growing there in rows. As they did so, Professor Sprout called for them to take a pair of earmuffs.

“Now, you must be sure to cover your ears properly and completely. Only when I give the heads up that it is safe to remove them will you touch the earmuffs. Should anyone so much as touch the earmuffs out of turn, they will be sent straight to their head of house for a detention. Now, put them on. I will come around and see that you’ve put them on correctly.”

Persephone tugged the earmuffs on, trying her best not to mess up her hair. They shut out everything—it was like being underwater!

Professor Sprout rolled up her sleeves, placed her own earmuffs on and grasped one of the tufty plants firmly. She knew roughly what to expect from sketches she’d seen out of the textbooks but it didn’t properly prepare her for what she saw when Professor Sprout pulled hard.

Instead of dirt caked roots, she pulled out of the earth a small, ugly looking baby with pale green, mottled skin. It looked like the baby was screaming at the top of its lungs—the fact that it had lungs was extraordinary.

She maneuvered the mandrake quickly into a large plant pot that she pulled from under the table, burying the thing in damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs up, and removed her own earmuffs.

“As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won’t kill yet,” she said calmly as though she’d just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. “However, they will knock you out for several hours so I say this again—anyone who removes their earmuffs will not only get a detention but will also be bound to the hospital wing for the rest of the day. Now, four to a tray—there is a large supply of pots here—compost in the sacks over there—and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it’s teething.”

She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.

Susan was quick to join Persephone, Hermione and Ron.

“So what did Gilderoy Lockhart want?” She asked but didn’t wait for her to reply. “Isn’t he brilliant? I had him this morning. I’ve read his books three times—he’s so brave, don’t you think?” She said with dreamful eyes.

“Er…” Persephone grimaced.

“That part where he got cornered in a telephone booth by a werewolf—ugh!” She gushed, “What were your favorite parts?” She asked.

“Sorry can’t hear you!” Ron screamed, though one of his earmuffs were half covering the ear.

It was so not as easy as Professor Sprout had made it look. The stupid Mandrakes hated coming out of their pots but then they hated going into the bigger ones too—they were frustrating to deal with. They kicked, flailed their tiny sharp fists and gnashed their teeth, squirming, trying to get away from Persephone. One particularly fat one was very stubborn, trying to climb up her arm rather than be shoved into the pot.

Everyone, by the end of class, was exhausted and aching. Persephone was upset at her ensemble being covered in dirt but Hermione was helpful in casting a clean spell. She bid Susan and the other Hufflepuffs goodbye and the three of them took off for Transfiguration.

“We have it with the Slytherins,” Persephone said, looking at the schedule. “Hopefully with Daphne.”

“Hopefully not with that horrible girl, Pansy Parkinson,” Hermione said, grimacing.

“Hopefully not with Malfoy,” Ron added.

Unfortunately, coming into the classroom found all three of those people sitting and talking amongst the other Slytherins. Hermione and Ron shared a look while Persephone smiled widely as Daphne waved to her, “Lily! Sit here!”

Pansy and Draco sneered at Daphne’s suggestion but Persephone ignored them, sitting next to her cheerfully, pulling Ron and Hermione with them. Ron was closer to the Gryffindor boys of his dorm so she was sure this seating placement wouldn’t bother him.

The Slytherins and Gryffindor were sitting in clear sectors of the room, divided in a clear line. Persephone and Daphne were the only Slytherin and Gryffindors who were talking.

“I was hoping for Professor Moutlain—he’s so much more relaxed than McGonagall. She’s so…uptight, you know? I can’t imagine having her as my head of house,” Daphne said.

Persephone snorted, “Right.”

“Professor McGonagall is brilliant! Only people who don’t understand the proprieties of Transfiguration magic would think of her as anything other than that!” Hermione scolded.

Daphne looked at Hermione, a slow smile drawing on her beautiful face, “And you are…?”

“Oh, that is Hermione Granger,” Pansy said, leaning back to them from in front of them.

“Ah, Granger is it?” Daphne asked, “I don’t think I recognize that name…are you related to Hector Dagworth-Granger?”

Hermione raised her chin, “No, I’m a muggleborn.”

“Ah,” Daphne laughed, “Of course. That makes sense.”

“Um, what?” Persephone asked, sitting awkwardly between the two.

“Who’s Hector Dagworth-Granger?” Neville asked Ron, who shrugged, watching the situation.

“He was the founder of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers,” Persephone said, answering the question. “Only the most amazing potioneers could ever be a part of the society.”

“Not surprising Lily knows of it,” Daphne said, shrugging, “ _She_ is a Potter.”

“Barely,” Pansy scowled.

“What does my family name have to do with this?” Persephone asked, starting to feel a little defensive.

“The Potter family is known for their exquisite work in Potions,” Pansy said, “Or they were, until you were born.”

“What does that even mean, Pansy!? I got an O in potions last year, for your information,” She crossed her arms. “And what, may I ask, did you get? An E? Right.”

Pansy glared hard at Persephone and several people snickered around them. They’d gained an audience.

Pansy’s ugly, pig-nose scrunched up as she smiled, “Well, the Potter family has found some disgrace, hasn’t it?”

“Don’t talk about my family,” Persephone said through clenched teeth.

“Well, everyone knows it,” Pansy said looking around. The laughs had quieted and everyone seemed to be listening. “I mean, wasn’t your mum…a magic thief?”

“Oh, come off it, Pansy,” Daphne said, “Lily Potter wasn’t a muggleborn.”

“Oh but she was,” Pansy smiled. Persephone’s hands clenched into fists. “Disgraced the whole family. Well, what was left of the family—till she died. And her daughter, the Girl Who Lived,” She said in a mocking voice, “Is nothing but a dirty half-blood born to a mudblood.”

Several Gryffindor’s gasped and some others stood up, like Ron, while Hermione gasped, “How dare you!?”

She didn’t know what the insult meant but she knew very well it was an insult and it was targeting her mum, so really, jumping across the desk aisle and attacking Pansy.

Before she could act, however, the door opened and a heels clicked, signaling the arrival of Professor McGonagall, “Persephone Potter, you’re needed by Madame Pomfrey.”

It took a lot to draw her eyes from Pansy’s and to look at McGonagall. Standing at the door was Hades, who was surveying the tension in the room and immediately drew his eyes to Persephone’s hands.

Slowly, with shaking hands, she reached down to grab her bag and slung it over her shoulder before looking up and snapping her eyes to Pansy’s. She felt her eyes flash for just a moment before a spell formed in her head and she felt it seal with another one.

So when she raised from her seat, she never let her eyes stray from Pansy’s and she let herself smile, smile too kindly. Pansy’s own smirk almost faltered at the sight of Persephone’s and she smiled even wider, “Have a good day, Pansy.”

Then she got up, scooping her books into her arm.

When she met Hades, who took her bag out of politeness and cast her a long, perplexed glance. She glanced back, to wave at her friends when Daphne said, “Morning, Hades,” with a brilliant smile.

And as soon as she did, Pansy screamed out, “MY HAIR!”

Everyone jumped, looking at Pansy. McGonagall looked in surprise at Pansy, who was wailing now, touching her hair and face, “What is the meaning of this, Ms. Parkinson!?”

“POTTER HEXED ME!” She screamed and Persephone saw her face covered in boils, tuffs of her black hair coming out as she pulled at them. “PROFESSOR, POTTER HEXED ME!”

“No she didn’t!” Ron called out. “We were right here—she didn’t even have her wand out!”

“Weasley that is enough!” McGonagall called. “Alright, Ms. Parkinson, please now, settle down…”

They walked down the hall by this point, and Hades was staring at Persephone. She met his eye, “Yes?”

“You hexed her,” He said simply.

She looked away, “There’s no proof of that.”

“Right,” He sounded like he was holding laughter. She bit back her smile.

“She had it coming.”

“That she did,” He nodded.

Ugh, Pansy Parkinson. The bane of her existence. ‘Wasn’t she just terrible, Tom?’

_I’m sorry you do not get along with your peers._

‘I get along with my peers just fine, it’s just that girl! Ugh!’

_I am impressed with your non-verbal, wandless magic, however. Under the right tutelage, you would be make a remarkable duellist._

‘I’m not sure where that came from, if I’m being honest—though you know when I’m being honest.’

_I do—and I presented you with the spell._

She nearly stopped. ‘You did?’

 _I did. You did come across the spells some time ago, as I see in your mind. I simply helped you sort the spell out to have the effects of two—the instant scalping hex and the furnunculus jinx._ ‘I don’t even remember reading those…’ _That’s what I’m here for._ ‘I didn’t want to hurt her though.’ _We can both agree that she deserved it, though, can’t we?_ ‘I…suppose.’

Hades shadowed Madame Pomfrey. She instructed him to out gloves on and he did as told while she set something up by the side. She was basically narrating for him, instructing him. He took her BP, which was actually just her blood pressure, and he monitored her heart rate for a minute while she drifted to her office.

“What happens now?” She asked when he wrote something down on the chart.

He didn’t look up as he scribbled, “Well, you have three options. One, you tell her you’re a siren. Two, I find some other illness, diagnose you with it and treat it. Or three—” He looked up cheerfully, “We fake your death and the world mourns the death of the great Girl Who Lived.”

“Haha,” She sneered. “This is serious—what do I do!?”

“Well, I can’t tell you—”

She cut him off, “You can help, you’re my friend, so please, help?”

He looked down at her and, sighing, put the chart down. His hands suddenly came up to her neck and he brushed them ever so gently at her jaw. Her breath hitched and he winced, “I know, I’m cold, I’m sorry.”

“It’s—it’s fine.”

He breathed out deeply, moving his fingers up and down her throat, searching for something that he did not find it. She hoped he didn’t feel how fast her heartbeat was going, because she thought maybe it had nothing to do with her being a siren. It maybe had something to do with the fact that she felt a nervous flutter in her stomach and how her palms were suddenly sweaty.

“Well,” He said, extracting his hands, “We can’t fake any illness without the actual illness.”

“So you’re suggesting I fake my own death?” She asked, laughing nervously, suddenly feeling a foreign feeling poison her chest. “How much of a success rate does that come with?”

“Not great—for whatever reason, you have a very recognizable face, being famous and all.”

“Dang,” Maybe she was going into hysterics. That would explain a lot. It felt more like a panic attack than anything. “Too bad. I had a name picked and everything.”

“Oh? What like—Athena?” He guessed, smiling and she felt herself smile in reaction. “Aurora? You would suit Aurora.”

“Thanks?” She coughed, trying to clear her throat. “Um…”

Madame Pomfrey came back and checked over everything and, finding everything as it was when she originally checked her—in her own words, neither better or worse—she allowed her to return to class.

She couldn’t go back. She was by far too nervous. Instead, she went to the girl’s bathroom, where she ran the water. She ducked her hands under the faucet and bent her head to wash her face.

When she raised her head once more, she met the eyes of a ghost.

She jumped, stumbling to face the girl. The ghost girl was squat, with pimples and thick glasses. She was wearing an older version of the school uniform, from the 60s, in the Ravenclaw colors. This must be the famous—

“Moaning Myrtle?” She whispered, trying to be as cautious as possible. From recounts of her dorm mates, this particular ghost had insecurity issues and was very sensitive.

She sniffled, “Everyone calls me that! No one bothers to learn my name!”

As if living up to her name, she moaned loudly, almost wailing, and floated away. Persephone, panicked that she would flood the bathroom and she would be blamed for it, quickly cried out, “Well, what’s your name!?”

There came no answer and the sinks started turning on. Panicking, she turned to try and turn them off to no avail—she was just hosed down. Weren’t sirens supposed to be useful in the event of a ghost trying to flood the bathroom?

God, what was her name!?

_Myrtle Elizabeth Warren._

“Elizabeth!?”

Silence followed. And then, the faucets turned off, one by one, until the girl reappeared above the toilet right in front of her. Persephone cocked her head to the side and the ghost girl gaze down at her. Then she gasped, as her heart continued to be racing.

She dropped her bag as she hunched over against a stall.

“I hope you clean that mess up,” The ghost girl said, folding her arms, and hiccupping. “I would be mighty upset if you left it like that. I hate messes.”

She was sliding against the wall, losing her balance as the dizziness set in, and the first thing she thought to say was, “Right!” She gasped.

The ghost huffed, “Why do you care for my name?” Persephone, unable to answer for she was gasping in pain, doubled over, “No one cares about my name—I know what they call me. Miserable, moping, moaning Myrtle.”

She started wailing once more, shadowing over Persephone’s gasps of pain as she felt like her ribcage would snap, “Dear Gods!”

“You aren’t dying, are you?” She asked, “I’d hate to share my bathroom with a Slytherin!”

Persephone, now crouching on her knees, looked up, her vision doubled, “I’m—I’m not a—Slytherin!” She gasped out.

“Right!” She huffed hautghily. “Like I would believe you—Slytherins are the only ones who ever come in here, to mock me and throw things at me. I hate Slytherins, the last one got me killed!” She wailed and turned to dive into a toilet.

A few sniffles later, she asked once more, “Are you dying?”

“I hope not,” She said, placing her hands out in front of her, leaning on them.

“Why? Don’t want to share a bathroom with me, do you?” She screamed. “No one ever has, why should I be surprised that no one wants me?!” She wailed and started crying harder.

“Elizabeth, please!” She cried out, feeling as though her lungs were becoming smaller and smaller, “How—how did you die?!” She needed anything to distract her.

It seemed the ghost’s whole aspect changed at once. She looked as though she had never been asked such a flattering question.

“Oh, it was dreadful!” She said with relish. “It happened right here, in this very stall!” Persephone pushed herself up, heading for the faucet to drink. Sirens need water, right? “I remember it so well! I’d hidden here because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked and I was crying,” Persephone, having taken a long pause in breathing to drink the water, felt her pulse lightened. “Then I heard someone come in. They said something funny, almost in a language that they made up. Anyway, what really got me was that it was some boy speaking, in the girl’s bathroom! So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet and then—”

Persephone was bent over the sink, pulling her hair back, gasping into it. She finally looked up, staring at Myrtle through the mirror, “And then?”

“I died.”

She frowned, “How? Just like that?”

“No idea,” She said, in a hushed voice. “I just remember seeing a pair of great, big yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up and then—I was floating away…” She looked almost dreamily at Persephone.

She then cocked her head to the sink she was standing by, “That sink has never worked. How did you do that?”

“What do you mean?” Persephone asked. “It’s just a sink.”

And then, someone strolled into the bathroom. It looked like a first-year, a familiar first-year. The girl was in Ravenclaw, with long, strangely braided, dull golden hair. She looked unsurprised to find Persephone there and simply smiled at her.

“Hello, is anything the matter?” She asked.

The ghost girl had disappeared and Persephone was just standing there, looking like an idiot. “Er…”

Persephone ducked down, frantically picking her things up and packing them nastily into her book bag while the girl watched. She cleared her throat and stood up and took her leave.

“Your headband is very pretty.”

Persephone jumped, spinning to look at the girl, “Wha—oh,” She blushed, touching her diadem. 

“It’s designed after the lost diadem of Ravenclaw, isn’t it?”

She blinked in surprise and then smiled, “Yes, yes it is.” Then she narrowed eyes, “Have…we met before?”

“No,” She said, “My name is Luna Lovegood.”

Something snapped together in her mind at her name and she paled, “Oh.” She said faintly.

The girl blinked, “We met when I liked the name Selene. Though a name doesn’t truly change a person—not really.”

Persephone couldn’t think of anything to do but nod, “Oh…so what changes a person?”

“Perspective,” She said simply. “I wonder if you see me as Selene or as Luna, but as we only met once before, you’ve only met me as Selene once so there wouldn’t be any change I don’t think. You didn’t know me then so your perception hasn’t changed.”

Persephone stepped forward hesitantly, “Perhaps…” She cleared her throat, “My name is—”

“I know who you are,” She said simply.

She froze and then giggled nervously, slapping her forehead and, effectively, her scar, “Right, the scar, duh.”

“No, its that jewel.” Luna said, glancing at it.

Persephone paused, “Do…you think I’m…Rowena Ravenclaw?”

“No, silly,” She smiled, “The necklace you wear with the flower—when we met, it was a water lily so I call you Lily whenever I see you.”

Persephone’s mouth fell open and she had to laugh, “You call me Lily because of my necklace?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“No, they call me that because it’s my name—well, my mother’s name. My middle name is my mother’s name,” She explained quickly. “But my name is Persephone Potter.”

“We have a lot in common then,” She said, “With our names.”

“Both mythological, both middle names starting with ‘L’…” She smiled. “I suppose our names have a theme, too—mine is of the underworld, like hell. Yours is of the moon.” How strange—a siren meets a girl named after the moon.

“My mother loved the moon,” Luna told her, distracted. “She said it told her stories…does the moon ever speak to you?”

“I can’t say it does,” Persephone noted.

“I wonder if the moon has its own language…” She said, zoning out. Persephone stood there awkwardly and coughed.

“Well…you know how…we met…I rather not tell people how…”

She came back to earth, “Sirens are the handmaidens of Venus and they are protectors of the sea, stars and moon. I won’t ever speak of you being a protector of the sea, stars and moon. If you’d like, I’ll swear it on Diana.”

It took Persephone a moment to remember that she did not mean her friend, Diana, but the goddess Diana. She smiled, despite how strange this girl was, and nodded, “I believe you.”

She thought of the stars, moon and sea all the way to lunch. She thought it was funny—Hades, Diana and she were like the stars, moon and sea. If, of course, Hades were actually named Pluto. And that would just be the funniest fucking thing ever.

She met her friends at the Gryffindor table, where Ron was having the worst problems of the day. He had patched up his wand with some borrowed Spellotape, but it seemed to be damaged beyond repair. It kept crackling and sparking at odd moments, and every time Ron tried to cast a simple spell, it engulfed him in smoke that smell like rotten eggs.

She sat down as he said, “Stupid—useless—thing—”

“Couldn’t you write home for another one?” She asked, crossing her legs.

“Right, and get another Howler back,” Ron said, groaning as he shoved it into his bag.

“Well it’s your own—” Hermione started saying but Persephone kicked her under the table, giving her a look.

“What have got this afternoon?” Persephone asked, to change the subject.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Hermione replied monotonously, as if trying to contain herself.

Persephone snickered as Ron grabbed her schedule, pointing out the hearts she’d drawn around each of Lockhart’s lessons.

“Why—?!” He demanded as she snatched the schedule back, blushing furiously.

Persephone burst into laughter, nearly choking on her grape juice.

When they’d finished their lunch, they left the Great Hall to wander towards the courtyard. It was sunny, with few dark clouds filtering the sun in and out. They found a nice spot on the steps near some older Hufflepuffs, who suddenly got a lot louder as they sat down.

Persephone leant up against the stone column by the top step while Ron stretched out his tall person down the stairs. Had he gotten taller? She certainly hadn’t. They started talking about the Quidditch tryouts and whether or not the team would be changed—Ron was sure Persephone would still be seeker, loyally. She wondered who else would be trying out for the Seeker position when suddenly the Hufflepuffs got even louder.

She looked over to see a bunch of older boys, laughing at one another and then suddenly they looked like they were play-fighting or something. When they saw Persephone looking, that only made them more frantic and she heard—“She’s right there!” “Don’t be a wuss!” “Talk to her!”—and then they all seemed to push one of their friends forward and then—“Heyyyyyy, Lillllyyyy!”

Cedric Diggory stumbled forward, clumsily walking forward as he smiled almost uncomfortably widely.

“Hey, Cedric,” She said, smiling up at him. Cedric nodded to her friends, with a small wave, which Ron and Hermione shared a look of surprise at, before he turned his attention down to her.

“What’s up?” She asked.

“You know—this and that,” He laughed, almost nervously (?). He was tall and handsome but seeing him almost overwhelmed with nerves was strange. “So, what’s up?”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “Dreading DADA, have you had it?”

“Yeah, it was…interesting…” He didn’t sound like he meant that.

She raised a brow, smiling, “Hold in your enthusiasm, will you? You’re scaring the first years.”

He laughed, “Well, it wasn’t what I expected—”

“What was it like?” Ron asked.

Cedric tried saying something but his friends started booing. Persephone frowned in their direction—what were they booing for? She suddenly felt self-conscious. Was this a bet of some sort? Talk to the Girl Who Lived?

She coughed, “I, er, forgot, that I have to find a professor—for a club.” She said.

“Oh—let me walk with you!” Cedric jumped away, giving her space as she grabbed her bag. Hermione whispered something to Ron. Ron snickered and Hermione was watching them intently from behind her book. “I also need to talk to him for the club.”

She raised a brow, “I didn’t say which professor.”

His face blanked, “Yeah, well—I mean, a professor—for a club.”

“Which one?” She questioned, raising a brow. His friends were watching intently as she crossed her arms, trying to ignore them.

“Er….Flitwick…?”

She narrowed her eyes, “Oh, then I suppose we are headed the same direction.”

“Great,” He beamed, running to grab his book bag from where his friends were. She saw them all whisper to him excitedly, glancing at her.

Humiliated, she started walking fast across the courtyard, when she was suddenly caught by the arm, “Lily! Goodness, I nearly couldn’t catch you there.”

It was Daphne. The sun made her golden locks shimmer and Persephone felt herself warm. “Hello.”

“Hi,” She looked for something in her bag, “Alright so Slytherin house is throwing a party this Saturday evening for a back to school sort of thing and we’re allowed to invite whomever we want, as long as they are second year and above—do you want to come?”

“Oh!” She said in surprise, “Are…Gryffindors really welcome?”

Her smile faltered a tad and she hummed, “Of course! What do you say?”

Persephone felt her heart lift—going to a party with Daphne? In the Slytherin common room? “Well—sure, I’d love to!”

“Ah!” She squealed, jumping to hug her, “Brilliant! Alright, dress nicely, but not too classy. It’s from 7pm but no one really shows up until eight. Oh! And you can bring a date—” She glanced back at Hermione and Ron in almost disgust, “Just let me know who.”

“A date?” She flushed. “Right, no.”

“Oh, look, that handsome Hufflepuff boy is coming over, invite him,” She suggested merrily, staring over Persephone’s shoulder.

Persephone changed the subject, “And Pansy doesn’t mind that I’m coming? She and Malfoy sort of hate me, Daph.”

“Oh, pish-posh! She was the one who suggested inviting you in the first place before she knew you were on the list.” Persephone wasn’t sure if she believed her, for Daphne was known to be nicer than Pansy, but then, she felt as though she were being watched.

Looking to her right, towards the fountain, she saw a very small, mousy haired boy was staring at Persephone and Daphne, as though transfixed.

“Oh, someone’s got an admirer!” Daphne teased Persephone, who slapped her shoulder. “Lily, darling, when you’re as pretty as we are, you must get used to being ogled at, no matter how rude. Besides, you must be used to this—you are famous, after all.” When she grimaced, Daphne sighed, turning to the boy, “Might we help you?”

He was clutching what looked like a muggle camera, something that looked like a newer version of Hades’ camera. The boy went bright red and immediately took up the invitation, coming towards them with a star-struck expression.

“H—hi! I’m—I’m Colin Creevey,” he said breathlessly, taking another step forward. “And you’re Persephone Potter, aren’t you? _And_ you’re in Gryffindor, right? Like me? I thought you were, with the red tie—and you’re a Slytherin!” He said, looking at Daphne.

Daphne, amused, raised her chin and nodded.

“Everyone’s told me about you—how you escaped death and how you have the scar to prove it!” he said excitedly.

Daphne stepped in, sensing Persephone’s discomfort, “And what’s that you’ve got there, Colin Creevey?”

“Oh—it’s my camera! My dad got it got it for me when I got my acceptance letter to Hogwarts! He’s a milkman—all this magical stuff is so cool and I wanted to show him everything I could and since you are like, a legend, I was wondering if I could take a picture of you to send to him? And could you sign it too? Gary Weasley says that if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures’ll move!”

“Oh, how sweet,” Daphne said without a hint of genuine interest, “Well, unfortunately—”

“Signed photos? You’re giving out signed photos, Potter?”

Her face fell and she closed her eyes. Now this was a crowded, unfortunate scene.

Looking as prideful as ever, Draco Malfoy had come to stop right in front of the girls, flanked by his usual goons—large and thuggish Crabbe and Goyle.

“Everyone line up!” Malfoy roared to the crowd. “The Girl Who Lived is giving out signed photos!”

“Oh, Draco, be nice,” Daphne chided in, sounding rather cross for someone Persephone’s age.

Cedric had caught up with Persephone, looking positively confused as to how a crowd had settled around her in less than a minute.

“And would you look at this!” Draco said, sizing Cedric up. “Lookie at this, Potter! You’re number one fan! Oh, do sign his forehead, won’t you?”

“Eat slugs, Malfoy!” Ron yelled from across the courtyard as he and Hermione caught the conversation. Most of the courtyard was listening now.

“Or is Weasley your biggest fan?” Malfoy asked mockingly.

“Oh, Draco, hush—for how much you talk about her in the common room, I’d say you’re her number one fan.”

Several people around them started ‘Ooooh’ing and Persephone bit her lip to keep from smiling. Draco scolded at Daphne. Did Draco not have respect for anyone?

 _Is this the famous Draco Malfoy? My, he is quite the character,_ Tom said in her head. She smirked.

Ron and Hermione had come, standing by her sides as Cedric frowned at Draco.

“Aren’t you the lovechild of Professor Snape and Narcissa Malfoy?” He asked with faux confusion.

People burst into laughter and Persephone frowned, “I see it!”

“Shut it, Potter!” He sneered but she shrugged.

“Jesus, what did I just walk in on?” Hades suddenly ducked in, looking around. Just then, as she turned from facing Draco, Crabbe roughly shoved Ron, who had tried raising his wand. However, when he pushed Ron, he flew into Persephone, who lost her footing and fell backwards, right into the fountain.

Persephone stared up as Hermione gasped, freaking out as she hoped up and into the fountain herself, holding her hands out, “Lily, the water—!”

And then Persephone burst out into laughter. Slowly, Hermione stood up and crossed her arms, “Ha ha, very funny.”

She made a move to get out of the fountain, accepting Hades’ outstretched hand but Persephone grabbed her other hand and pulled. Hermione, and Hades by extension, fell right into the fountain, Hermione straight up on Persephone, causing her to shriek with laughter.

“LILY!” Hermione shrieked, shoving water at her. Gasping with laughter, Persephone shoved water right back and Hades blinked water out of his eyes, standing up on his knees.

“Fucking fantastic,” He said, splashing a bunch of water at Persephone.

“Oh, we having a pool party?” And then there were move splashes at her and she gasped, coughing and laughing. “Freddie, you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Of course, Georgie.”

“Hey Ron!” She laughed, bringing up her cupped hands with water in it and throwing it at him.

He tried jumping out of the way but it didn’t work out and then suddenly, Hades, Hermione, Ron, George, Fred and Persephone were fighting with water, causing people around them to laugh, cheer and back away.

“Watch out!” Hermione suddenly called and she looked around to find Gilderoy Lockhart striding towards them, his turquoise robes flying behind him.

“RUN!” Persephone screeched, pulling Hermione by the hand up and out of the fountain.

Partially soaked, the six starting running, all screaming for each other to run. George ended up slipping and called for them to leave him behind before Hades doubled back to grab him. They dodged students, screaming and laughing and by the time they got up to the other side of the castle, they were out of breath.

“We probably lost so many house points!” Hermione gasped but she didn’t seem all that upset.

Persephone was still laughing and gasping for air at her sudden burst for exercise while Ron collapsed on the floor, heaving.

“I’d say a rematch is in order,” Freddie said, laughing. Hermione was wringing out her skirt and Hades performed a quick drying spell.

Hermione looked up and Hades smiled, a genuine, charming smile, “We haven’t met—I’m Ben Solo—”

“Right you are!” Georgie said, grabbing around the neck and wringing his knuckle against his hair, “Glad to find you aren’t influenced by the pale gits.”

The boys play fought for a moment while Hermione raised a brow, “He's known as Ben, sure, but his full name is Obi-Wan Solo.”

“Like from those movies with the glow in the dark stick swords?” Hermione asked and Persephone burst into laughter, damn well near tears at that.

“…I will cheerfully beat you to death with a paper napkin!” Hades at some struggled with George on his back.

When finally she caught her breath, Persephone leaned up against the wall and sighed, “It is so much more fun doing that then it is just having a normal lunch. If losing house points gets you to have fun like this—” She shook her head, staring up.

“Marry me,” George said in all seriousness with a stupid grin on his face and she slapped his arm.

“Shut up. What’s the Drying Spell again?”

Tom answered her in her mind and she used the incantation, “Calor,” and her clothes immediately dried. When the six were dried and amused, Persephone had no doubt that this was the very highlight of her day, as she had Lockhart next. She would hate this class.

_Defence Against the Dark Arts. I always dreaded this class in my day._

‘Why? Who was the professor?’

_Galatea Merrythought. She didn’t truly bring anything interesting to the table. I didn’t learn much that I couldn’t learn on my own._

‘I think I’m about to go through that myself,’ She thought, taking a seat in between Ron and Hermione in the back.

The classroom this year was the usual classroom, in the third-floor corridor. Last year, the corridor was out-of-bounds for reasons including a giant three-headed-dog. It was decorated with moving pictures of Lockhart’s face, winking and smiling with his unnaturally white teeth.

“You think Creevey might start a Persephone Potter fan club?” Ron asked, snickering as he bumped her shoulder.

She rolled her eyes, “Shut up.”

“If he meets Gary, they’ll start making posters and pins,” He continued and she slapped his shoulder.

She ignored his laughter and instead focused on her mind—‘So, what was your time in Slytherin like?’

_I was a prefect and Head Boy during my years. I loved the castle, I loved its secrets._

‘Like what secrets?’ She thought as Lockhart walked into the room, clearing his throat loudly.

_I should not distract you during your lesson. Do tell me how it went later._

Lockhart reached out to pick up Neville Longbottom’s copy of Travels with Trolls, and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

“Me,” he said, pointing at it and winking as well. “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming Smile Award—but I don’t talk about that. I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!”

Some people in the front—some girls—giggled. Persephone sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I see you’ve all bought a complete set of my books—well done. I thought we’d start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about—just to check how well you’ve read them, how much you’ve taken in—”

When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, “You have thirty minutes—start—now!”

Upon seeing the first question, she scolded.

  1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color?



Ha, right. She pushed the paper away and folded her arms, laying her head on her arms. Hermione glared at her and she put a finger to her lips. Hermione rolled her eyes and started scribbling vigorously. Persephone closed her eyes.

_Persephone opened her eyes once more to find herself standing in a garden. She was enveloped in sunlight every so often, standing near the shadow of a tree moving with the wind, casting moving shadows partially over her. She felt as though she was partially blind—it was like there was a strange filter over her eyes, making everything blurry._

_She looked around, only to find a woman gardening, her back to Persephone. She was wearing a sun-hat over her long, wavy hair and a green sundress. She stood from her crouch, surveying her work, before turning to face Persephone._

_Persephone’s mouth fell open—it was the same girl she saw in the mirror every day. The woman smiled, and smiled warmly in a way that filled Persephone’s entire body with a bright feeling. Like sunlight in her veins._

_“Hello, my flower,” She said, coming forward, reaching for Persephone. She carried wildflowers in one hand, the other hand stretched out for Persephone._

Persephone woke before she could touch her mother and she woke suddenly and regretfully. She felt the bitter disappearance of the feeling in her hands and she swallowed. Hermione had been nudging her. Lockhart was coming around collecting papers. Hers was empty. She didn’t care, for she missed what she had just seen.

“…need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully—I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples—though I wouldn’t say no to a large bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky!”

Ron chortled next to her and she laid her head back down, though she was sure Hermione would not let her drift off. She felt sick to her stomach—where had that dream come from?

Hermione, as usual, had all the right answers and was rewarded with ten points and a wink. Persephone grimaced while Hermione blushed a deep red.

Finally, Lockhart led them into the actual magical part of the class. He pulled a covered cage from under his desk, giving them a wide-eyed expression, “I warn you! It is my job to arm you against even the most sickening creatures known to wizard kind! Today is the day you might just be facing your worst fear! However, you mustn’t worry! I am here to hold your hand! Now, all I ask is that you remain calm.”

She lifted her head, waiting. Perhaps this class wouldn’t be as bad as she had predicted.

Lockhart gripped the top of the white cover and warned them, “I must ask you not to scream. It might provoke them.”

The entire class was holding its breath now, waiting with suspense. And then, Lockhart whipped off the cover and Persephone sighed. Never mind.

“Cornish pixies?” She muttered, “Right.”

“Yes,” he said dramatically, pointing at Persephone. “Freshly caught Cornish pixies.”

Seamus Finnigan in the front row let out a laugh. Lockhart took it for a scream of terror.

“Do not be frightened!” He called out, holding the cage of pixies over the class. They matched the description of the textbook exactly, with electric blue skin and tiny, at only eight inches long, with pointed faces and shrill voices. They had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making ugly faces at people nearest to them.

“Remember,” Lockhart said loudly. “I am right here!”

And he opened the cage.

It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, up ended the waste basket, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.

“Come on now—round them up, round them up, they’re only pixies,” Lockhart shouted, as he inched away, towards the back door.

Persephone stood up, brandishing her wand, “IMMOBULUS!”

Usually, the charm was supposed to freeze two or three pixies. Instead, the pixies all froze up in the air, floating slowly until they stopped mid-air.

Lockhart, who had dove under his desk, peeked out and then stood, “Ah, there we are! Who is the brilliant student who’s just earned themselves ten points?”

“Hermione is!” Persephone shouted as the bell rang.

She hurried out of the room before the charm wore off, sighing. What a year this will turn out to be. She wished she could just drop the class right then and there, and spend her time actually studying.

_Those…are not of the brightest Ravenclaws…I’m sorry you have such an incompetent teacher, Persephone._

‘This year is going to suck,’ she huffed.

_Not unless I were to teach you._


	6. A Night to Remember

“I’m going to kill myself.”

Persephone rolled her eyes, slapping his shoulder, “Don’t be dramatic.”

Hermione blinked, “How did you get in here again?”

Hades raised a brow, “The door? I’m just giving you a warning, if anyone gives me a fucking tap shoe, I will chuck it back at them.”

The three of them had been lounging at one of the tables in the common room when Hades had come in, complaining loudly and very annoyingly about how the only way she could do dance class was that if he also enrolled. Ron had started laughing loudly while Hermione stared at him in confusion as he pulled up a chair to brood in.

“Why are you so violent?” She asked. “Dance is so much fun, maybe you’ll benefit from it! Get all anger out!” She said cheerfully while he glared at her.

“Ha ha ha—maybe I’ll chuck you at someone, how does that sound?” He asked in a mocking cheerful tone. “I’ll press play on the music box, but I’m not taking a step anywhere near the spandex tights.”

“You know we don’t just do ballet right?” Persephone raised a brow.

“I hope not,” Fred said coming to stand behind Hermione, leaning on her chair, “We’re in dance this year. Mum is forcing us. Said all gentlemen should know how to dance properly.”

“Ha! Jokes on her, we know how to dance,” George said, doing a very bad version of what looked like something that was supposed to be the Macarena.

“Oh thank god,” Hades sighed, dragging his hands up his face, “I don’t think I can be left alone with Persephone while she’s doing ballet.”

“Why?” She asked, biting her licorice wand. “Because you’re afraid of the fact that I have the training and strength to strangle you with my legs?”

“No because you kicked Pansy Parkinson last year when you kicked your leg up.”

She snorted, “That was on purpose.”

“I know,” He said, “I’m the one who’s going to have to pull you off Pansy when you two eventually start a fight.”

“Bold of you to assume she’d get into a fight,” Persephone said, snorting.

Hermione said, “She’d be too worried about breaking a nail.”

While the group laughed, Persephone made a face, “Nail care is important, Herman!”

“Nail care is important, Herman,” Hades said in a high-pitched mocking voice that was supposed to be her voice.

She muttered a curse under her breath and he leaned towards her, cupping his ear, “What was that?” He asked loudly and obnoxiously.

She leaned in, cupping her hands and screamed. He jumped right out of his chair, landing on the floor, holding his ear, “Jesus, fuck! Seph!”

“Sorry what was that?”

The next day, at the very first dance class, she was getting changed in the dance changing rooms. She was wearing a ¾ sleeved black colored leotard with one of the wrap skirts Cedric had gifted her some time ago. She was nervous to see him in class, as he had not gotten a chance to say what he had obviously wanted to say to her the other day. She couldn’t help thinking it was simply a sick prank but she knew better—or she hoped better.

After sewing her pointe shoes, she stood up on them and started stretching them, standing on them, testing out the wrap. It was pretty steady. It was then that Hades walked in, looking out of place as ever.

“Have you ever danced before?” She asked him as she got up on pointe for practice. He looked ready to freak out.

“Not in front of the entire dance department!”

He had every right to be panicked. Every dancer would be in the dance room today so everyone could be placed in the right section. To be allowed to join another physical class, you needed to either be on your Quidditch team or have permission from Madame Hooch that you passed the course. Unfortunately, neither Ron nor Hermione had. Daphne had and she was next to her, styling her hair in the mirror. Pansy, too, somehow made it into the class, though rumour had it that Miss Parkinson had a bit of a brawl with the teachers which resulted in Pansy being accepted into the class.

“Hey, if you’re nervous, you could stick with me,” Daphne said, giving him a smile whilst batting her lashes. A dangerous combo. She felt a strange bitter flutter in her chest and looked away.

He was still freaking out, though, basically ignoring Daphne to stare at Persephone, “I don’t even know what you’re supposed to wear! Tights!? SWEATS!? I DON’T FUCKING KNOW!?”

“Wait—wait, wait, wait, wait,” Persephone said, trying to hold in her laughter. “Do…do you know what—what a dance belt is?”

He stared at her dumbly before shaking his head, looking positively terrified.

She tried to contain herself as she leaned up into his ear to explain what it was and what it did. His mouth dropped open and he couldn’t speak for a moment. She stepped away from him and wondered if, ironically speaking, _she_ would need to get the nurse for _him_.

“But for now, sweats are perfectly appropriate.” She told him, trying not to laugh. He nodded faintly as Cedric Diggory came up.

“Hello,” He smiled at everyone.

“LET ME TEACH YOU!” Persephone called out loudly, taking Hades by the hand and pulling him to an empty corner. She dropped her bag and asked, “Is he looking?”

“Diggory?” He asked, “Yeah. Why? You want him to?’

She shrugged, “Not sure.”

“You want me to—”

“No, I do not want you to get involved,” She said quickly. “I know what you did to those poor theatre kids last year.”

“I had good reasons,” He said, raising his brows at her.

“Right, well,” She said, getting into first position, “As much as threats are so appropriate in dance, knowing the basic positions is too. This is first position.”

“How—”

“Don’t turn out your toes too much,” She instructed, “That puts too much stress in the knees. Just follow the natural turn out line. Put your arms out like this,” She examined him and found he did very well, “Huh. You’re really flexible. How much did you dance?”

“Not a lot,” He seemed uncomfortable but less freaked out. “But would you believe me if I told you I was forced to?

She was the one being emotional by the time they got to fifth position and he just did it naturally and perfectly, “Jesus Christ, is this a werewolf trait? Being good at ballet?”

“Would you—”

“Will you turn me into a were—”

He smacked his hand over her mouth and she glared, smacking his hand away. She made him go through the positions once again as she fixed her hair up into a tight ballet bun.

“You did at least five years of ballet for that joint movement, you must have!” She said, putting in another bobby pin.

He cleared his throat, “A month, actually.”

“That’s just not fair!” She moaned.

“Well, Seph,” He lowered his voice. “When you break all your bones every month, joints tend to be very open, don’t you think?”

She thought that made sense, “Fair enough.” She cocked a brow, and kicked her leg up above her head, “Or maybe…” She smiled cheekily.

He rolled his eyes before eventually smiling, and sighing, “Probability of faking my own death?”

“Hmm…” She pursed her lips, “Usually, I’d let you, maybe even join you, but its dance. I don’t want to be late.”

He nodded, looking up, “Great.”

She hesitated before taking his arm, her chest filling with a nervous buzzing, “It won’t be so bad. If it’s a duet, usually the guy supports the girl so you can support me, and lift me in the air. It’s really casual and we all have our little groups. We can be in the same group,” She smiled at him and she felt like the luckiest girl in the world to be the one he smiled at so genuinely.

He let go of her hand when they had entered the more populated dance studio. The entire dance department was here. Every dancer Hogwarts had was exempt from all morning classes till lunch, as this would take a while. She was told it was normal, as she didn’t know, having joined the class late last year.

She decided against going to her friends and instead took to Hades’ comfort level—she found them an empty spot at the bar, “So if the ballet teacher hates you, its fine.”

“What?” He raised a brow just as the teacher entered the room. 

Professor Sinistra was the Astronomy professor and one of three dance teachers. Professor Berry and Professor Alison were the other two and she knew very well from second-hand accounts how strict they were. Standing with them were strange women Persephone had never seen before.

“Students!” Professor Alison called in her shrill, posh British accent. “Circle up, please, now!”

Unsure if this was a usual first class ritual, Persephone did as she was told, standing next to Hades and Cho Chang, a very pretty fourth year. Daphne came to stand on Hades’ other side, smiling up at him. Another stab hit Persephone in a strange part of her chest but when Daphne met her eye, she simply smiled at the blonde girl.

“Welcome back to our returning dancers,” Sinistra began, “And a welcome to our first timers! To put it rather blunt, the people you see around you will be the people you see for the rest of the year. There are no such things as quitters in dance, as anyone who has thoughts of quitting should have thought about it before joining the class.”

Hades looked towards the door and Persephone was torn between being amused and guilt-ridden—it was her fault he was here, after all. 

“Now, please, if you will, I’d like for everything to get into first position. We will start with some barre, as I assume everyone is well and warmed up their muscles, hm?” Her very heavy accent was something between Dutch and German. It was nice to listen to. Very unique.

She led them through the warm-up barre, “Everyone space out on the bars, please, enough room to wave arms and to be able to breathe without hitting another dancer, yes, that’s good. A little here,” She came around, adjusting students here and there, and then began once again, “I’ll ask you now to face the bar, and we’re going to start with a tendu front, rotate in, and back out and flex plie, and to the side now—”

It was very standard warm up, without familiar supporting arms and positions. Sometime during their third time going in, Sinistra pointed her wand off and music began to play by itself on the grand piano. She instructed them only verbally and those who were lost were good on watching others. Hades was behind her and she glanced back at him to offer him a supporting smile. The music shifted as they moved into plies, and then into tendus, and then jetes.

By the time they got into fondu, Hades seemed better. He wasn’t wobbling anymore from loss of balance and he wasn’t looking so freaked out anymore. In fact, he looked very sturdy. For a ballet dance, that is. Perhaps he would prefer other dances, hip hop, as boys always for whatever reason drift toward, but she would be very happy if he stayed in ballet.

Towards the end of barre, she spoke again, “For those of you who are not familiar, every two years five schools are chosen to participate in La Revolution de Danse. This year, our very own Hogwarts has been chosen to be participating in the competition—”

Before she could finish, an excited chatter broke out amongst the dancers, looking eagerly across the bar, mouthing something to their friends. Persephone, feeling out of place, had no idea what La Revolution de Danse was. She simply concentrated on her frappe.

It took a moment for the chatter to die down with a sharp ‘Silence!’ from Professor Alison. Sinistra continued, “For those who are unaware, La Revolution de Danse was first established during the end of the Renaissance as a way to solidify bonds between schools at a time that it was very dangerous to be a witch and wizard. It is a two year competition, the first year having five schools and the second having only three, as two will lose in the first two rounds year. There will be three acts this year, all of which are going to be tasked a theme.”

Many of the students were whispering excitedly to one another, daring Professor Alison’s wrath to speak to their friends.

“The other four schools in participation are as followed; Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, Institution of Magia, Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—” Persephone zoned out for the rest of the list, snapping her eyes at Hades. His eyes had widened and he suddenly had stiffened up. She saw his hands tighten at his sides. Suspicion coiled inside of her—what could lead to this reaction? She had been under the impression that he had enjoyed his time at Ilvermorny.

“…the duets will be performed by the two dancers of the most chemistry and complimenting nature. The compatibility of the partners will be decided today, and will likely follow through as the duet performers for the year,” Professor Sinistra had continued.

Professor Alison pointed her wand up to the ceiling, where the music had usually protruded from. The music wasn’t placed, nothing very categorized. It sounded jumbled to Persephone. She had all girls come to the floor and Persephone was forced to leave Hades on his own. She shrugged, smiling apologetically before going to stand by Daphne.

And then she realized Draco Fucking Malfoy was standing amongst the boys, looking bored. She stared at him for a long moment and Daphne nudged her, sending her a questioning look. She stared with wide eyes between her and Draco and Daphne shrugged, “He’s good.”

Before she was able to process Draco Malfoy being _good at anything_ , Professor Sinistra explained briefly how there would only be five songs that a person could hear, all songs from ballets that were familiar to those with at least five years of experience. The person with the greatest and most refined dance would be dancing to music that everyone could hear and so the big groups were separated into several groups of five and each were assigned a musical variation.

It varied greatly and mostly came down to a competitive streak between dancers. There was heavy competition between the girls. The first group, Pansy outshined everyone with a phenomenal variation to the music of the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. She would be going onto the next round and to Persephone’s chagrin, she saw one of three woman smile at Pansy as she won the round.

“That’s Mrs. Malfoy,” Daphne whispered to her, leaning close. “She led Hogwarts to winning a long time ago, and we haven’t won since.”

“That’s Draco’s mum?” Persephone gaped. This woman was…beautiful. Absolutely stunning. She had a very angular grace, almost out of a painting. She had an air of easy elegance, something that Persephone imagined had to come with an angel. It was almost unnerving.

Persephone as assigned the Giselle variation. She lost the music in an accidental early spin but she caught it once more and finished with it, having her win the round. She noticed a strange look on Mrs. Malfoy’s face.

Persephone had a really good feeling when she won the fifth round and there were only five girls left. Pansy, Daphne and Persephone were amongst them, to no one’s surprise. Cho Chang was another girl, no surprise there either. Lydia, a sixth year from Hufflepuff house, was the fifth.

Persephone thought that the older girls were probably to move on to the next and final round, as they had more experience. Then it was only a question of which of the three second year girls would move on.

Of the boys, Cedric Diggory made it through with an impressive Nutcracker Prince variation. George and Fred weren’t in it seriously, as they pranced about and made very non-ballet moves but it was still Persephone’s favorite. Draco, too, unfortunately made it forward. Persephone hates herself for saying it, but he was very good. She didn’t like that he was good at something she was good at.

Daphne pulled her wand out when it came time for the last boy group to perform. Persephone watched her, raising a brow. She raised a finger to her mouth in a gesture to keep silent and then she whispered an incantation.

“What did you just do?” Persephone whispered as the music started again.

Daphne smiled, “I want to make sure Hades Black and I are partnered up.”

Persephone, not understanding what she meant, turned to stare at Hades—and then she realized what she’d done. Hades was doing amazingly well. Like, better than good. It was almost obvious that Daphne had cast the spell.

“You cheated for him?” Persephone hissed at her, turning back to stare in shock. “Why would you do that!?”

“If we’re paired up, we get to spend time together,” She said in a mocking tone, as if this should have been obvious. Persephone shook her head. “ _Alone_ time together…”

A nasty, horrible feeling twisted in her chest and her mouth went dry. Daphne…liked Hades? Like, _liked liked_? As in, she wanted to like, boyfriend and girlfriend?

The world spun for Persephone and she had to sit down. What was going on?

_It seems to me that you also fancy this Hades._

She’d nearly forgotten about Tom, having been so quiet all morning. And she was shocked at his analysis. ‘I can’t possibly fancy him! He’s—he’s Hades! I’m just mad because I know he doesn’t like ballet that much and he’ll hate being one of the performers, is all! Daphne had no right…’

_That much is true, but you seem to be deeply affected by his own distressing situations, as if they were your own. Forgive me, but I do believe you fancy him._

Tom was very good at explaining magic to her. Early that day he’d given her a list of books to check out of the library to be prepared for his lessons. He explained things that made sense to her in Charms, and never spoke in echoing the text books. He was brilliant, but this— _this_ was the one thing he was not brilliant at.

‘Perhaps things were differently in the fifties, but he’s my friend—that’s all,’ but even to herself, that didn’t seem right.

The girls were allowed to break and stretch away from the boys with the option to watch them perform. When finally the five boys were chosen, the girls joined them on stage. It was Draco (ugh), Cedric, Hades (who was confused and dazed), a boy named Richard from Ravenclaw, and Sammy from Gryffindor.

“Now, each of you will take a blindfold and put it on to completely cover your eyes. This portion of our auditions will be completely freestyle, allowing you to dance in any styles you wish. It’s all about letting yourself go with the music that has been specifically chosen for the task of finding our main couple. You will start to become one with the music in a way that only real dancers can and it will gradually fall from a solo to a duet. Each of you will find a partner based on the chemistry. Gradually, dancers will become unable to continue, as I’m sure you will feel it. It would be unwise to continue. There will only be two people left by the end of this phase.”

The teacher had them all blindly navigate to a different section of the stage, to allow for no one to know who is who and then, when they were thoroughly confused, the music began.

It was strange, to dance without eyes. Cho kicked Richard straight in the mouth in one of her pirouettes, which she was told afterwards. Richard was bleeding from the attack and Cho’s ankle suffered greatly. Sammy was a good dancer but too short for when he and Daphne ended up bumping into each other. He never stood a chance with her spins. Lydia was a softer dancer, moving barely an inch from her original spot but she tired quickly.

Persephone wasn’t sure as to where she was moving. She hadn’t hit anyone, or even felt anyway movement in the air. She let herself move with the music, spinning, lifting her leg up and then when she regained her balance, she felt the presence of someone else. On instinct, she ducked down and whoever it was flew over her, landing easily on their feet.

She moved to turn, crouching with her arms out and felt that she had her arms lightly around someone’s torso. Whoever it was, moved with her and when she started turning, they turned with her and placed their hand on her left thigh, wrapping an arm around her waist. She understood the move, and let her arm hover above his shoulder. They bent and she leant back as he lifted her. She did a splits as he spun her slowly in the air and she touched her foot lightly on the floor, bending once more.

He didn’t let go of her, as he had his elbows under her arms, and basically swung her lightly.

It continued like this. Persephone and her partner brushed past each other, barely separating farther than a few feet. They seemed to sense each other and could always predict each other’s next move. At some point, she ran and did a _jete_ and he followed a few feet away by jumping and landing into a summersault completely in sync for when she hit the ground. When she lifted her leg in a ballet move, he did the same from the floor in a contemporary move, throwing his body up with the support of one arm.

He ran at her and lifted her leg up as she did a splits in the air and then she jumped and allowed for him to carry her in a rotational movement, her arm over his shoulder. She used the momentum of him letting her go for a Calypso back foot bent sauté where she ended with rolling onto the floor and onto her knees.

He followed her league and she took his hand and let him drag her towards him. She did a bridge over him where her then push her legs with his own so she was on her feet. His hands snapped to her hips and he pushed her up into an aerial splits jump, her hands on his shoulders.

She grabbed his hands, pulling him up and spun into his arms and then he spun her out, pulling her in and lifting her up over his right shoulder. When she was on her feet, she ran away, doing a handless cartwheel followed by a backflip. When she had her knees bent down with the backflip end, he found her and she put her arm over his shoulder and kept her legs bent then straight as he lifted her up into a semi-spin.

They separated for a moment, and then she took her chances, spinning, and running at where she knew he was, and jumped up. As she expected, he caught her at the hips and pushed her up into a superman. Then he pushed her even higher and she spread her arms out.

Clapping began as the music faded and slowly, he brought her down, allowing for her to drag her arms down to his shoulders and around his neck. She was breathing heavily but smiling—it could only be Cedric! Who else would be able to lift her without hesitation in the manner that he just did?

“Alright you may take your blindfolds off!” Sinistra called out and she did so and then her mouth dropped open in horror. This wasn’t happening! No! “Pansy, you and your partner will be third understudies after Cedric and Daphne. Congratulations to our duet partners! Everyone give a round!”

Persephone blanked and glanced at Daphne. When she caught her eye, Daphne pursed her lips and turned, marching off towards the other girls. Persephone felt something deflate in her. _Oh no…_

Without a word to Hades, Persephone listened to the teacher explain their responsibilities—they have rehearsal every day and should be practicing on trusting each other with more advanced moves very frequently. When Professor Alison finally dismissed them after giving them their class ranking, Persephone quickly made her way into the changing rooms, intent on finding Daphne.

It seemed Daphne was well aware of her intentions and was focusing on Pansy as she changed into her uniform. Persephone approached her, setting her bag down near hers. Pansy and Daphne ignored her but they obviously knew she was there, as their conversation halted.

Finally, Persephone spoke, “So…”

“What?” Daphne asked sharply, turning to stare at Persephone with a raised brow.

Persephone cleared her throat awkwardly, “You know…that it isn’t my fault that…I’m partners with Hades, right?”

“Right,” She nodded but Persephone wasn’t sure she was so convinced.

Nothing more was said, for the tense thick air was going to suffocate Persephone. She didn’t know what else to say so she just concentrated on getting all the bobby pins out of her hair. There was one she couldn’t find that was stabbing her head.

She was worried and distracted for the remainder of the day. She was worried about Daphne thinking she cheated to be with Hades—but how could she have done that? If it was all based off chemistry, then how could someone cheat? Was she really mad because she thought she’d cheated? But then, wouldn’t she know that Hades and Persephone were close? Closer than him and Daphne? What even made up chemistry?

Then she had a terrible thought that turned her stomach—Hades spent time at the Malfoy’s over the summer. And knowing the Malfoys, they probably only had pureblooded friends—the Greengrass family was most definitely pure-blooded. How much time had Hades and Daphne spent together over the summer? It was clear that Daphne knew Hades and Hades wasn’t at any point confused as to who Daphne was…

“Congratulations, Lils,” George said, jumping over the back of the couch she was sitting on and falling next to her upside down, a goofy smile playing on his lips.

She managed a smile at her friends. She was sitting in the common room waiting for the last lesson before dinner to finish—Ron and Hermione were both in Flying class at the moment and the common room was left barren except for Persephone and now the twins.

“Where’s Hades?” She asked, looking around. He was usually seen with the twins and different house common rooms didn’t keep them apart.

“Probably the Underworld,” Fred said, flopping down on the arm chair.

She made a face, “I meant Hades Black.”

“So did I,” He grinned. She rolled her eyes, “Are you mad at him or something?”

She frowned, “What? No! Why? Does he think I’m mad at him?”

The twins exchanged a look and George said, “Well, he said he thinks if he talks to you now, you might kill him and frame one of us for the murder.”

She scoffed, “Right.”

“Aren’t you two close?” Fred said cautiously.

She huffed, “I think one of my friends has a crush on him and she’s mad that I got partnered with him for the dance thing. I don’t want to make it seem like I have a crush on him.”

George stiffened at this but Fred started smirking, “And…do you?”

“EW!” She screamed, “God _no_!” She threw a chocolate frog at him. He caught it in his mouth and chewed the whole thing in his mouth. She groaned in disgust. He tried saying something but was muffled with the chocolate in his mouth.

Persephone grimaced, “Ugh! Stop!”

“I think what my twin was trying to say,” George said, rolling back onto his feet and standing, “Is that its time.”

“What, do you guys practice to understand each other with your mouths full?” She raised a brow.

He gave her a look, “Twin telepathy.”

She rolled her eyes, “Time for what?”

She raised a brow as he pointed his wand at the windows, dropping the curtains over the window and obscuring the late afternoon sun. In less than a minute, the common room was basked in darkness. “What is this?”

“Your initiation.”

Suddenly, George clasped a blindfold around her eyes and she squealed in surprise, reaching up but he quickly said, “Relax! We’re just going to kidnap you.”

“Don’t you trust us?” Fred asked at her other side.

Someone picked her up and started walking and she crossed her arms, “Initiation for what exactly?”

“You’ll see.”

He walked and walked and walked and walked, until finally, she was set down on some cushion. Still with her arms crossed, she asked, “Can I take off my blindfold now?”

“Patience is a virtue, my dear,” Fred’s voice came from her right.

She huffed and waited and then finally, someone’s fingers hooked under the blindfold and it was jetted of her head, no doubt making her hair a mess.

She was sat in a circle with the twins on either one of her side, both sitting in the same position, legs crossed and hands on their knees. In front of them was a plain piece of parchment and three candles, lit and moving.

“We are now in the place of great respect, a place where we must be quiet else the spirits will hear us.”

“Spirits?” She raised a brow.

He nodded solemnly, “The spirits of those that came before us—those who have left us their legacy, a legacy that we must protect at the cost of our lives!”

She took a quick glance around and scolded, “Are we in the Gryffindor common room—”

“Sh!” They both hissed. “You’ll wake the spirits!”

“Did you walk me around in circles?” She asked and they shushed her once more and she raised her hands in surrender, allowing for their dramatic antics to continue. “Sorry,” She whispered.

“We are gathered here to welcome our new sister,” Fred continued. “We welcome you into the circle of ancient magic, of power greater than you’ve ever known.”

Now she was interested. She listened intently, straightening up.

“Yes,” They both nodded. “Mischief.”

She waited for something to happen but nothing did. She glanced between the two and then rolled her eyes and played her role, gasping, “No!”

“Yes!” They urged. “Today, you will be a part of something much bigger than one person. You will be sworn into our liege of mischief,”

“You’ve proven yourself worthy, sister,” Fred nodded. She looked at the parchment, and gestured to it with her eyes. Fred nodded slowly.

“We have it memorized so it is time that we pass it onto someone who will carry on our legacy, and those that came before.”

He gestured for it and she hesitantly reached for it, excitedly wondering what it could be—ancient magic? A potion recipe for success?

When she unfolded it, her smile fell. She raised her eyes to them, “It’s just a bit of old parchment.”

“A bit of old parchment!” Fred grimaced, closing his eyes as though she had just offended him and everyone who came before him, “Explain, brother.”

“You must first swear in front of all those who carried the legacy of mischief that you too will honor it,” George said. “You must swear, as solemnly as you can, that you are up to no good! Swear it!”

He handed her wand over, which she had no idea when he had taken, and nodded. Blinking hard at his theatrics, she said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” While pointing her wand at the parchment.

Almost at once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider’s web from where her wand had touched the parchment. They joined each other, they crisscrossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment; then she could make out a very obvious drawing of the castle bordering letters she couldn’t read yet. And then it all came together, and she read aloud,

“Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present, the Marauder’s Map.”

She glanced up and they both nodded. With their permission, she opened the map up and gasped.

It was an intricate map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But the truly remarkable thing were the tiny ink dots moving around it, each labeled with a name in minuscule writing. Amazed, Persephone bent over it and found the Gryffindor common room, where the names, ‘George Weasley, Fred Weasley and Persephone Potter,’ were in a circle.

“When we were in our first year—young, carefree, innocent—” She snorted at this. “We got into quite the spot of trouble with Filch.”

“We let off a Dungbomb in the corridor and it upset him for some reason—” George shrugged.

Fred continued, “So he hauled us off to his office and stared making some lovely vows and promises—disembowelment, broken bones, starvation—and we couldn't help noticing a drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked Confiscated and Highly Dangerous.”

She breathed a laugh, “You didn’t!” She was grinning now.

"Well, what would you've done?" George asked. “So I caused a diversion by dropping another Dungbomb and Fred whipped the drawer open, and grabbed this treasure.”

“Does Filch know?” She questioned.

He snorted, “Please, Ficlh isn’t worthy of carrying such a powerful mischief legacy. We don’t reckon Filch ever found out how to work it. He probably suspected what it was, though, or he wouldn't have confiscated it."

“This beauty has taught us a lot,” Fred said. “Now, it will teach you.”

She was astounded, truly, examining every inch of the map. “Who are the creators?”

“Ah, the Messrs. Moony, Wormtaill Padfoot, and Prongs," George sighed. “We owe them so much. They have helped bring us up into the men we are today,” He nodded fondly and Persephone rolled her eyes in amusement. 

“Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of lawbreakers," Fred nodded just solemnly. “Don’t forget to wipe it after you’ve used it or anyone can read it.”

“Just tap it again and say, 'Mischief managed!' And it'll go blank." George said, showing her.

“This is—” She was at a loss for words. “Thank you!”

When the twins bid her goodbye and good mischief, she had forgotten all about dance class drama. She had a list of books she had to borrow from the library at Tom’s request and she had been fretting about the books that would surely be in the Restricted Section. She was brainstorming ideas of how to get a slip of permission—she was counting on complimenting Lockhart and coaxing a slip out of him. Now all she had to do was sneak in tonight with her Invisibility Cloak and Marauder’s Map and she was good to go.

Without the hawk-like eyes of Madame Pince watching her, she tread lightly. The librarian hated everyone, for they were a threat to her perfectly maintained books. She expected everyone to damage the book in some way and seemed to live in the library, for she was never seen anywhere else.

Persephone had been in the Restricted Section before, both with permission and without. She hadn’t gotten too deep either times, knowing the rumours that circulated about going in too deep. There was no age line keeping underage students from entering the section, so really, it was the school’s fault for any student that went in without permission.

She stepped over the rope carefully after having navigated the school carefully, keeping her eyes on the map. It was amazing! She had dodged Filch twice and he had no idea! Under the protection of the Invisibility Cloak, with the Marauder’s Map as a navigator and her metamorphmagus powers as a backup should she get caught, she was invincible. If she got caught, she’ll just morph into some random person and give a fake name. Easy done.

The tried not to think of the rumours of the Restricted Section but it was not so easily done—just yesterday, Lavender Brown had informed her of a person who’d gotten lost for several hours and had to spend the summer in the Restricted Section. She’d told her that that was the dumbest thing she’d ever heard but now it didn’t seem to preposterous.

She walked down a wide aisle, taking in her surroundings. It was the same as the usual library with ladders positioned against the towering bookcases, shelves organised neatly. The air changed, though, the second she stepped in. It was as if there was an unmoving element in the air, as if time stood still.

As she went in deeper, keeping in mind the books she was looking for, the library seemed to darken considerably. The main, widest aisle seemed to break off like a spider web, and become more complex, with thin passages to the next aisle. It was very dark. She couldn’t see a foot in front of her.

She folded the map up, and slid it in her bag.

“Lumos,” She whispered, and faint light glow from her wand. It seemed the air and darkness was so thick that no light could penetrate through it. You were supposed to be confused, enveloped in darkness.

The Restricted Section was much larger than she’d given it credit for. Her footsteps echoed in a way that showcased how far the section stretched for. As she cut a corner, the passage was suddenly blocked by a shifting bookshelf. She kicked herself for being surprised—why wouldn’t it shift around like the staircases in the school? It was a labyrinth!

She took another aisle down and continued on her way and nearly screamed—she bumped into a gargoyle statue. Trying to control her breathing, she stared at its dead eyes and found it was staring back at her. Her heart racing, she ducked under its wing and passed it, never taking her eyes off it. When she did snap her eyes away to check the four way passages, she’d been looking away for too long. It was gone when she looked for it again.

She comforted herself with the knowledge that Tom was there, that she wasn’t alone, and continued on her way. There were no books written in English, or any language that she recognized. They were all written in runic languages that she had no ever seen before. She must have been in an older, unvisited portion of the library—a thick layer of dust covered the shelves and books. When she pulled a book out, she found the dust floating in the air made it hard to breathe.

A thick layer of dust appeared on the shelves, and the books written in English began to decrease in number, replaced with spines written in runes.

Someone had written under the runic passage and in neat handwriting, it read:

_We give our thanks to our Queen and Empress and Her presence ending the war between the three factions. She who has inspired Hope has been our savior and has begun Her rule. She is born of an ancient magic, the magic of Heaven and Earth, the magic only few can practice, the magic they have tried to tame. They are but fools in the Queen’s eyes. She is the ruler of all magic, the sister of Hecate and of Diana. Magic is born within Her and She alone bestows the gifts amongst those She deems worthy. Long live the She who wears the crown._

Persephone was confused as to what the passage meant but she did like the hint of ‘ancient magic’ so she slid the book into her bag and continued.

The books Tom had sent her to find weren’t easy to find or recognize when she did find them, but she was glad she did find them. They spoke of an ancient magic, and were written a long time ago. _Magick Moste Evile_ was perhaps the easiest to find. She hesitated when she found it, asking Tom, ‘Are you sure it’s this one?’

_Don’t be fretted by the word evil. Those too weak to seek power give things the naïve titles for fear has a tight hold on them. You aren’t afraid, are you?_

She swallowed thickly and plucked the book off its shelf, ‘No, I’m not.’

_Good. I didn’t think you were._

It was the final book on the list. Thankfully, too, because she was starting to get a headache. She retraced her steps back and found that the labyrinth had changed in the time she had spent but then she saw that it was a brick wall, and not a shelf. Was this a wall of the library or simply a dead end?

She took a deep breath and turned around, only to find herself face-to-face with the gargoyle from earlier, only this time, it had its arm up over its head. She didn’t like the way it was positioned, as if it was ready to grab her before she had turned around.

She took a step back and almost bumped into another gargoyle. Her heart in her throat, she went around it, and didn’t take her eyes off either one until she was at the end of the aisle. Then she took off at a run.

She only stopped when she reached the end of a corner, were she could see both aisles. She needed to catch her breath but she didn’t dare take her eyes away from the aisles.

Suddenly, a deep crack came, and then another, and then another. At the sound, she froze. She was invisible, yes, but that didn’t make her instinct to hide any less logical. The sound seemed to be coming from all direction, and then was accompanied by a rustle of what sounded like chains.

Taking a risk, she jumped up onto the bookshelf and started climbing, pulling herself up, higher and higher off the ground. She hit the ceiling sooner than she had hoped but she found it was much higher than she’d given it credit for.

The sound grew louder and she coiled up into a ball in an empty portion of a shelf, watching the happenings of below. Then, she saw it.

Dragging a collar of chains with it, a large, black dog turned the corner. It had white eyes, no pupils and it walked slowly, sniffing loudly. Horrified, she clasped a hand over her mouth and watched it pass by Persephone’s hiding spot. Then it paused where Persephone had been standing, sniffing repeatedly.

She waited with baited breath when finally, it turned the corner and the sound grew fainter and fainter. A terrible feeling was coiling in her stomach at the sight of what it had left behind—it was tracking blood everywhere in the form of paw prints.

Oh my god, oh my god…what was that!?

_The Restricted Section of the library has many clever ways to pick out those who do not belong there. It doesn’t have an age line but it does have protectors, though they only appear to those who are not meant to be where they are. They feed on anxieties and fear and sniff you right out._

‘So…so it’s a figment of my imagination caused by anxiety and fear?’

_I did tell you fear is not useful, didn’t I?_

‘Tom! How am I supposed to not be anxious in a situation like this?! How am I supposed to get out of here?’

_How did Theseus escape?_

‘The ball of yarn, but…I didn’t tie any yarn to anything, I can’t do that!’

She closed her eyes—what did Percy do in the _Battle of the Labyrinth?_ There wasn’t any Daedalus to find! Okay…what would Percy Jackson do in this situation? Was that right or would it be better to ask what Annabeth would do?

She hooked her leg up and pulled herself up on top of the bookshelf. She stood up and tried her best not to look down. She was high up—surely she could find a way out without falling, right?

_Find the red thread. It’ll lead you out._

‘Red thread?’ She mouthed to herself and started looking. It was much too dark to see much of anything but she navigated, moving up aisles well above the floor below. How was she to find a red thread? How small was that?

A needle in a haystack. Just as Persephone was going to give up, she saw what looked like a red glow in her peripheral. She was about on her own last thread, so why not?

She jumped from the tops of the bookshelves, hopping from aisle to aisle, until she was above the one glowing red. She took the invisibility cloak off, and tucked it safely into her bag. Closing her eyes, she asked permission from the air, and took a leap faith—literally.

Instead of landing harshly, she landed slowly and gently. “Thank you,” She said and grabbed the red thread. She wondered which way she should follow it.

And then, a strange prickle sensation floated above her head, almost a sting. She felt a strange sense of deja-vu and moved without thought, moving to the right and following the string down the aisle. It was almost a dreamlike trance and she couldn’t help moving, knowing she was doing it right. With each step, she went faster, as if she had more purpose by the second.

She came upon what was a brick wall. She stared for a moment and stared up. Yes, a wall. She let her hand hover above the wall, feeling the texture. It was cold and hard. No doubt a wall. What had possessed her to go further into the library? How was she supposed to get—oh!

The cold texture had abruptly changed into a softer one and she looked down. Instead of brick, she found the dark spine of a book, camouflaged perfectly amongst the brick. Frowning, she bent down and pushed it. It moved, quite easily.

She pushed it until she couldn’t push it anymore and stuck her hand in. Nothing. Emptiness. Frowning, she cast _lumos_ and found darkness.

 _Curiosity killed the cat,_ she thought as she sighed, lying down in front of the passage, arms first. Her arms found something study, and she pulled herself in, sliding easily. My god, she was skinny. Standing up in the dark, she brushed herself off, coughing with the dust, before placing the book back in place. As she did that, sudden torches on the walls lurched to life, and warm light abused her eyes. She blinked heavily, her eyes adjusting to the sudden light and then found herself standing at the top of a staircase, torches lighting the path all the way down.

Knowing what Hermione would say about this, she travelled down the passage, the torches lighting as she approached and dimming as she passed by. She was thinking a skeleton man, or vampire would jump out at her at any moment but she braved through that fear, remembering what Tom said.

She came upon a wooden door, one that creaked loudly when she pushed it open. She came upon a round room made of stone with shelves carved into the stone walls. It looked ancient, with cobwebs covering most corners and a circular candle holder above her head. As she stepped in, a fire burst in the hearth and illuminated the room with a warm glow.

“Who are you?”

She screamed this time, and spun around. There was no one there. And then she realized she was an idiot—there were paintings up on the walls, four in fact.

At closer inspection, she found the paintings moving, as most paintings in the castle do. She examined each and then found, with amazement, that these were talking portraits of the House Founders.

“She’s clearly my descendant,” A throaty, deep voice came from the painting of a tall, muscular man with a lion-like mane of wavy red hair and a beard to match. He had green eyes, peach-coloured skin and was holding his infamous sword. If it hadn’t been for the sword, she could still know who he was, with the gold and red robes. “She’s got a powerful mane of blood red hair!”

“Oh?” Another, more feminine voice asked. “She could just as fairly be my own descendant.” This voice came from a portrait of a round and plum woman with fair strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes, adorned in a yellow robe piece with brown under robes.

“Perhaps we ought to let the girl speak?” The first voice said. She was what Persephone imagined the goddess Athena to look like, with black hair, pale skin, dark eyes and a very intimidating look about her. She was wearing blue robes with gold linings and on her head was the diadem, the same diadem that Persephone wore in a simpler fashion. “I repeat—who are you?”

“I’m—I’m Persephone Potter.” Persephone finally spoke, though her voice broke as she said her name. “You—you’re the founders of Hogwarts!”

“This dimwitted girl most certainly does not belong in my house!” Another, more pompous voice called up.

“Salazar, please!” Rowena Ravenclaw scolded. Salazar Slytherin had blonde hair slicked back with green eyes and a look that told Persephone he had enough of his painting companions.

“I’m in Gryffindor’s house,” Persephone spoke up. “What is this place?”

“HA! Gryffindor!” Godric Gryffindor’s painting boasted, “No doubt, of course, brave girl coming down here. My fine pupil, this is the Founder’s Alcove, the place we all once gathered to originate our plans for a school for young witches and wizards in a dangerous time where we were being killed by—”

“By those filthy Christian muggles who believed the power of the heavens would save them for killing our children!” Salazar bellowed. “And yet we allowed for their children to step foot in our sacred school!”

“Salazar!” Helga Hufflepuff tried. “Sal, please! Those children were born magical—”

“Tell me, girl, did the boy succeed?” Salazar suddenly turned to Persephone, “Did he succeed in opening the chamber?”

It seemed all the founder’s breath seemed to stop and they all looked at Persephone expectantly.

She raised a brow, slowly saying, “The…chamber?”

“My Chamber of Secrets!” He bellowed, “What other chamber?”

“Your…” She was desperately trying not to laugh, “Chamber of Secrets?”

“Dreadful!” Helga cried, “Absolutely dreadful! If I’d have known—”

“I have bestowed my heirs with the greatest weapon in ridding the school of those unworthy of learning magic and yet this feeble girl of Gryffindor is unaware of it…” He whispered almost in horror.

“There are no witch hunts, not anymore, hasn’t been for hundreds of years,” Persephone said. “There’s no reason to hate muggleborns—”

“Oh, it isn’t just those muggleborns, it’s any who associate with them and their filthy half-breeds too! They pollute our chances of survival with every muggle they associate with!” He exclaimed, raising a pointing finger to Persephone, “And you, girl, what are you?”

This was Salazar Slytherin, the founder of the house she wanted to be in. And he would hate her for her blood status.

“I’m the Girl Who Lived,” She said simply, avoiding the answer. Before they could ask why she was called the Girl Who Lived, she spoke again, “I didn’t know Salazar Slytherin left behind a chamber. Did all the House members?”

“Now that we speak of this, I too, left behind a concealed chamber at Hogwarts,” Helga Hufflepuff said proudly. “A chamber that would help all students, regardless of their house affiliations or _purity of blood_!” She said the last words pointedly for Slytherin.

“You are all fools for believing these muggles poisoning our children will not be our downfall!” Salazar cried. “Fools! You, girl! You must find my heir, the Heir of Slytherin! All my heirs have been in my house. You must find him and bring him to me! He is our last hope!”

“I don’t understand…” She was so tired. She checked her watch. It was well after midnight now. “I have to go…how do I get out of here, do you know?”

Rowena Ravenclaw was the only one who helped Persephone. She advised that stepping through the portrait of her own house will bring her to her common room. Relieved for such an easy passage, she walked towards Gryffindor’s portrait.

Before she did, Slytherin called out, “It’s under the school!”

Salazar Slytherin seemed a little crazy.

She smiled to herself, mumbling the forgotten end to the famous phrase, “…but satisfaction brought it back.”


	7. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is so long and so messy?? But I wanted it to be messy because Persephone is not being herself is she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to change the earlier name of Nico Di Angelo to Ben. I'm not sure why, exactly, but I've been thinking it for a while and I've decided it suits his character much better. Also there's a reason she hasn't been referring to him by his nickname, rather by his given, pureblooded, birth name *wink, wink*

She didn’t sleep that night. She wasn’t tired—she was too excited. First she gets a magic map that could help her sleuth, next she meets the founders of Hogwarts, or their portraits at least. Meeting them raised the question of how alike portraits are to their living counterparts. What if their living counterparts weren’t living?

It was a confusing branch of magic that she did not nearly get lost in a library to learn about. The branch of magic that she did almost get lost in a library to learn about was…intricate. It was very complex and very hard to understand but she was sure of was that the books talked about dark magic simply being magic that was frowned upon because of its uses to harm others. People were scared of this magic like they were scared of the Dark Lord’s name.

A lot of what was written about ancient magic was about being level with magic. Wandless, non-verbal magic is so advanced because of the respect held for the magic. The books talked about magic as if it were a living being that simply needed a heart, a soul and a mind. She understood that much—magic depended on a user’s vital force to be able to be used properly but at the same time, it was also a force more ancient than humans. It recognized when it was used with disrespect and sometimes simply didn’t work for it. It was why some wand cores were affected by its owner’s mood. Some magic need a very specific life force but it all came down to respect.

But coming down to respecting magic came down to also treating it right. Some magic that depended on more unpredictable parts of nature—like the wind. Asking permission is required. Persephone had to ask the wind for permission before she could use it to help herself and it never failed her. It wasn’t always reliable, however, and uncontrollable at times should the right mind, soul and heart be trying it. Those able to use wandless and non-verbal magic are more in tune with magic.

Strangely enough, Hogwarts didn’t teach wandless magic. It was strange, shouldn’t school teach them about those different sorts of magic? She simply didn’t understand it.

Morning came and with it came Quidditch tryouts. She’d nearly forgotten that they took place the first Wednesday of the first week of school, which was today. All the house quidditch tryouts would be taking place after breakfast, during what should have been flying class. Oliver had sought her out and had questioned her vigorously about how she was feeling. She knew forgetting about the tryouts were definitely a sign of sleep deprivation but he came to her to tell her that she was clear for tryouts because of a long talk he’d had with Madame Pomfrey. As long as Hades was there, there would be no problem.

Knowing Hades would be there made her morning worse.

Daphne Greengrass had such an obvious crush on Hades, it was sickening. Persephone felt sick whenever she saw Hades, knowing well what Daphne would think if she saw the two together. She’d been so stupid not to notice it before. If Persephone had had any idea of Daphne’s crush she would have stayed away from Hades. She didn’t want to upset Daphne by letting her think she had a crush on him—because she didn’t. She didn’t have a crush on him.

She was very clear on her emotions for him— _about him, not for him._ She wore the diadem of Ravenclaw, she knew well what her feelings were. She liked being around him and thought of him when he wasn’t, liked how he spoke, how he explained things. She liked it when he stood by her and ducked his head down to whisper some stupid joke to her. He treated her like she always wanted to be treated, and she liked his smile, because who wouldn’t like his smile? She liked being the one to cause the smile because he obviously didn’t smile as much as he should and she liked being on the receiving end of the smile. It was just a general thing—but she _most certainly_ didn’t have a crush on him.

So when she saw Hades that morning, she turned around and pretended she didn’t see him. She crossed her legs the opposite way and focused on Oliver listening when Seekers would be flying out. She’d be last, after Demelza Robbins. Usually a full Quidditch team didn’t need to have any tryouts but Oliver really wanted to be sure he had the best team he could possibly have.

This is why Oliver looked scandalized at seeing the bags under Persephone’s eyes, “Did you get any sleep at all?! How are you supposed to be on your best game if you haven’t slept!?”

“Chill out, Wood,” George said, taking a seat next to Persephone.

His twin took a seat on her other side, “Persephone’s a no brainer.”

“She can beat anyone with her eyes closed,” Hades said, coming to sit behind Persephone, stretching his long legs between her and George. She closed her eyes for a moment and then smiled.

“I’ll be fine, Oliver, I promise,” She nodded, staring up at him sweetly.

He huffed but turned around to start the tryouts. Fred turned back to say something to Hades that she ignored, and George leaned in close to her, “Late night with the Purveyors of Mischief?”

She bit back a smile and rolled her eyes, and he bumped her shoulder.

Hades leaned in between them abruptly, “When’s the first dance rehearsal?”

She cleared her throat, “I’m trying to read,” She gestured to the book open in her lap and made a face. She turned back to her book but found his arm had already gone around her and plucked it easily out of her hands from her other side. She turned around quickly to glare at him.

“Jeez!” Fred cried, holding his eye, “Watch where you throw that hair of yours!”

“Give that back!” She told Hades, stretching her arms out to grab it but he was much taller and simply stretched away. She scolded at him.

“‘The Natural World’s Magic’,” He read out loud, pushing his glasses up his nose, “And what class is this for?”

“I’m surprise you know what class is,” She said, finally getting close enough to snatch it back. She gave him a smug look and turned away. He tugged lightly on one of her Dutch braids and she smacked his hand blindly without turning. “Are you going to be at every practice?”

“Supposed to, yup,” He sighed.

She hummed, “You’re basically on the Gryffindor team.”

“I’d rather light myself on fire get on broom.”

She frowned, turning, “You’d rather burn yourself alive rather than get on a broom?”

“Mhm,” He nodded, “Don’t worry, I still want to die but I’d rather not die on a broom.”

She raised a brow, “What makes you so sure you’d die?”

He raised a brow right back, “Because I’m on a broom?”

She got her seeker position without a problem and was given a long talk from Oliver. While this talk was unfolding, she noticed from her peripheral Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quididitch team captain, talking to Hades. She narrowed her eyes—she didn’t even think Marcus Flint and Hades existed on the same plane of reality.

She didn’t know why Daphne had a crush on Hades, honestly. He was so annoying. He didn’t deserve to be tall, it only made him more annoying and smug. It probably fueled his ego too. And had he ever heard of a comb?

She turned a corner and immediately bumped into the one person she didn’t feel like bumping into—Professor Snape scowled at her clumsiness.

“Er…” She said, staring up at him with wide eyes.

He only looked down at her with annoyance, “Ms. Potter,” Even saying her name seemed to disgust him, like it had some insult directed to him. “I wouldn’t expect you to be running late your first week.”

She stammered, “I’m not—I just had Quidditch tryouts…so…”

He sneered, “I had hoped you would have stopped wasting your time with useless hobbies,” He said, scolding. “And I should remind you, have you not gotten the notice, that the first meeting for my potions club is this evening…I expect no tardiness, am I understood?”

She nodded vigorously and he passed her in a glide, his black robes billowing behind him. She shuddered—he was like a bat…or a shadow. Gosh, it was unnerving. She was thrilled to be in potion’s club, though. No one in her year was in it, as she asked around, and felt surprisingly good about this fact. Snape thought her mature enough to work alongside the upperclassmen. Hermione was super jealous and was making her take very detailed notes.

Persephone immediately wanted to trade places with Hermione when she saw the one person she was avoiding.

“Saved you a spot,” Hades nodded to the seat by him when he caught her eye. He barely looked up from his textbook, and she clenched her jaw.

“My god—Snape is _here!_ I _don’t_ need a babysitter!” She cried. Why was it feeling like he was everywhere!?

He glanced at her, smirking, “I happen to be here because I’m good at potions, Potter.”

“You suck at potions!” She said immediately.

He raised a brow, “You’ve never seen me brew.”

“But won’t you be too busy with your Babysitter’s Club?” She pouted mockingly.

He smiled rather scornfully at her, “Not if the baby is here.”

She glared, “

He gave her a look and she crossed her arms, “Besides, good potioneers have an instinct that can’t be learned. I know you well enough to know you don’t have that gene and—why are there only Slytherin in the room?”

Upon seeing Hades, she had immediately looked around the room, looking for anyone she recognized from her house, but found all the students were wearing green and silver.

“Got a problem Gryffindor?”

She cast a dark look at the Slytherin, “Really Will?”

William McCoy stifled laughter and mocked her, “Really, Lily.”

She took her place next to Hades begrudgingly and finally Snape entered and everyone silenced at once. Persephone was mildly disappointed—and Hermione would also be, later, when she filled her in—that one aspect of the potions club was to keep the hospital wing stocked. The more advanced potions were brewed by Madame Pomfrey but the more common ones were brewed by this small team of Slytherins and one Gryffindor.

On the list of potions they would learn and brew were Draught of Peace, Draught of Drowsiness, Draught of Sleep, Essence of Dittany, Fatigue Infusion, Hiccoughing Solution, Invigorating Draught, Laxative Potion, Lung-Clearing Potion, Mouth Itching Antidote, Oculus Potion, Pepperup Potion, Skele-Gro, Vitamin Potion, Wound Cleaning Potion, the likes. They were simple potions that anyone would use at some point of their lives—like Charms Club. Only Charms Club had Cedric Diggory smiling way too much at Persephone.

At the end of the meeting, Hades slid something into her bag under the table. She shot him a confused glance and he mouthed to her, ‘Later’. Her heart sudden took off and she looked away, flushing a deep red. What could it be? What would he write to her?

Her heart was speeding up like it was beating up against her ribs and from her ribs vibrated down her spine and through all her bones. She felt it like an electric shot through her entire body and for a moment, she thought she would pass out.

After he gave her the paper, he fled the room quickly, cast a look back to her before he was gone. She was breathing a bit too quickly as she grabbed the paper, her hands shaking as she unfolded it. She skimmed through it and was surprised at what it had and then disappointed. What did…she expect? It wasn’t this.

A note fell out, written in blue pen ink on what looked like a piece of paper ripped away from the original sheet.

_‘Hospital wings have authority to pull familial records for medical background. Hope you don’t mind.’_

It looked like a family tree of some sort and a few moments of examination that it was her family’s tree, printed out in miniature writing. She stared dumb at the parchment dumbly before she blinked hard.

“Ms. Potter, is there anything I can help you with?” Snape suddenly asked, looming over her desk.

She snapped the paper to her chest and she stared up at Snape, coming up with something quick, “I was just wondering if you could answer a question I have.”

He stared at her for a long moment before he sighed, “If you could ask the question, I might be able to answer it.”

She jumped up, “Oh, right, yes, I…was wondering if you…could tell me about ancient magic—like wandless, non-verbal magic.”

He raised a brow and she thought he wouldn’t answer, but then he said, “I haven’t heard the question yet, Ms. Potter, stop wasting my time.”

She cleared her throat, “Why isn’t it taught in schools?”

“Ancient magic,” He said, “Has been deemed too dangerous to be practiced and for this, is illegal.”

“Illegal?” She gasped. “But—but so many classes are based off ideas brought up with ancient magic! How can it be illegal?”

He raised both eyebrows at her sudden emotional outburst, and responded with a calmer voice, “Ancient magic is uncontrollable, unpredictable and has a history of killing its practitioners.”

“Kil…ling…?” She muttered, frowning.

He straightened, “If that is all.”

She felt like she was walking in slow motion. _She_ could do wandless, non-verbal magic, easily…would it kill _her_? It was ancient magic, after all, most people lost the ability to perform this magic when they got their wands…it hadn’t changed anything when Persephone got hers. If anything, it made her sure magic ran through her veins very literally…could that kill her?

 _Not if you let it,_ Tom spoke in her mind quickly. _Ancient magic strikes fear into people’s hearts because it is something that they cannot control. I assumed you weren’t a person easily frightened, I’m sorry, I simply refused._

‘No, I’m not scared,’ She asserted quickly, ‘I just didn’t know.’

_If you are reconsidering having me as your teacher, please do tell me. I just supposed that with the right tutelage, you could come to your full potential._

‘No, I still want to learn,’ She sighed. ‘And apparently, I would have a better chance in Slytherin,’ She remembered the other piece of magical headpiece that had a look into her mind. _‘_ _You would do great in Slytherin, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that…’_

Those were its words.

_Is there no possibility in changing houses? You are not yet in your third year, I don’t believe it ought to be too much trouble?_

‘I’m trying to build a case to that but so far, I’m going to sound like an immature child.’

She stared down at the parchment Hades had given her…she hadn’t been expecting him to be so nice to her after she’d brushed him off so childishly. As she walked back to the Gryffindor tower, she unfolded the parchment once more and started examining it closely, taping each name with her wand to see more information about each person.

She knew her parents’ names. Her mother didn’t have any magical relatives in the past three generations, which is odd. Usually muggleborns were born with Squib ancestors but there was nothing. Her maternal grandmother’s name is Rose, and her great-aunt’s is Delilah. Persephone had to smile at this. There was an obvious flower theme in the family.

Her father’s full name was James Fleamont Potter. His mother’s name, Persephone’s paternal grandmother, was named Euphemia Potter. His father’s name was Fleamont Potter, a potioneer who invented Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. She was surprised at this fact—she had no idea she used a family invention in her hair so often.

Then she remembered what Pansy and Daphne had said—her family had apparently done great work in potions. That made sense then.

There was a dotted line by their names, descending to another name, a familiar name that she couldn’t quite place—Sirius Black. She identified the line with the legend at the bottom as ‘adopted’. She narrowed her eyes, reading a little printed star next to the name. The paperwork apparently went out but was blocked by a third party. Strange.

His father, Henry Potter, her great-grandfather was a member of the Wizengamot. He apparently caused a minor controversy by publicly condemning the Minister of Magic of the time about the decision to forbid the wizarding community from helping out in the First World War. He was very pro-Muggle, which took the Potters off something called the Sacred Twenty-Eight. His father’s brother was Charlus Potter, the man who married Dorea Black, the woman Hades had once talked to her about.

She went through the lines, reading each name and piece of information, finding some familiar pureblood names here and there. Then she found the name Hardwin Potter. He was the eldest son of seven children. His father was Linfred of Stinchcombe, nicknamed the Potterer. He was the first Potter. He got his nickname from his pioneer potioneering, having invented many medicinal potions, including Skele-Gro and Pepperup Potion.

It wasn’t the fact that she was brewing potions for the hospital wing that her ancestor had invented that made her think really hard. It was the fact that Hardwin Potter, his eldest son, was married to Iolanthe Peverell and that she was a direct descendant of them. It was the name Peverell that was bothering her—she had heard it somewhere before.

_Ignotus Peverell._

She pushed away from the table, nearly falling over her own feet as she ran, jumping over the chair and sprinting up the stairs. She meant to knock but then she forgot because she had already burst through the door, “GARY!?”

Gary Weasley looked up, startled, “HI?!”

“HI, HI!” Persephone stumbled into the room, “Hi, okay, can I borrow a book? Beedle the Bard?”

Stumbling around for words, he pointedly to his desk and she dashed, looking through his stacked books and she pulled out the right book, the same book. She looked up at Gary, who was staring in bewilderment.

“Can I borrow this?” She asked and he nodded immediately, flushing. She smiled, and thanked him, before rushing out.

When she was in her dorm, with the drapes closed in around her bed and salem purring at the foot of the bed, closed her eyes and closed her palm. It darkened for a moment and then when she opened her eyes, a warm glow emitted from her hand.

Quietly, she read to herself,

“There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at midnight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure. And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.

“So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.

“Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.

“And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.”

“Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death’s gifts.

“In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination.

“The first brother traveled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible.

“That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother’s throat.

“And so Death took the first brother for his own.

“Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him.

“Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her.

“And so Death took the second brother for his own.

“But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.’ ”

And then she turned the page, to the very last page of the book, where drawn messily was the names

_Antioch Peverell----Cadmus Peverell----Ignotus Peverell_

Ignotus Peverell had been the youngest brother, the one with Death’s Invisibility Cloak, probably the same cloak under her pillow at that very moment. She referred back to the family tree Hades had given her, amazed that he had not made the connection. She found Iolanthe Peverell’s name once more and placed her wand on her name. Because it was so far back, she found it took much longer to have information brought up. Or perhaps it was her impatience that made it seem like this.

Iolanthe was Ignotus Peverell’s granddaughter, the eldest daughter of his son. Then, there was Antioch Peverell. Another few minutes to have information appear at the tip of her wand revealed nothing, that he had died young, from a murder. No children. And then, onto the middle son, Cadmus Peverell. He had children, though he had died before any of them were of age to not be considered children. Agathemia Peverell was the last of the name and she married…a Slytherin…

She was sat in shock, letting her eyes wander down that list of descendants but found it died out in the house of Gaunt(?), sometime in the mid-1600s. No, wait, no it continued on with Marvolo Gaunt, and two children. Morfin Gaunt and Merope Gaunt. There was no information on Merope Gaunt but the only tailpiece of information on Morfin Gaunt was that he died in Azkaban.

And that was it.

All the descendants were laid out bare, and she had to count out loud—and finally, she came down back to her name, the only living person of the line connected to Slytherin. Even by marriage, would this make her…the Heir of Slytherin? The very one that Salazar Slytherin’s portrait was speaking of?

“Persephone?” Someone called, making her jump and the light in her fingers went out.

“Er, yes?” She called out, shoving the family tree back into her bag, and shoving her bag under her covers before peeking out from the curtains.

It was Lavender.

“Padma told me to tell you that Hermione says that Neville says he ran into Angelina Johnson who ran into Hades Black outside of the common room and that he needs to talk to you,” She said.

Persephone blinked, “Wait, who needs to talk to me?”

“Hades Black!” She giggled. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“What? No!” She scolded, but flushed at Lavender’s eyebrow raise. “It’s not yet curfew is it?”

“Like it would matter to you,” Lavender replied, which earned her a glare, to which she replied to with sticking her tongue out at her.

Hades looked tired when she found him. He brightened when he saw her and pushed himself off the wall he was leaning up against. She folded her arms, and watched him approach her.

“Did you read…?”

She nodded and then panicked, “Did you—?”

“No,” He shook his head quickly, “No, I didn’t want to invade your privacy…so…” She nodded and shifted awkwardly. “I was…er, wondering if you would…”

She stared at him, waiting.

“My grandfather…died.”

She dropped her arms, and her mouth fell open. She closed it quickly and took a step towards him, “I’m sorry.”

“No, its okay, I didn’t really know him…but the funeral is this Friday and I want you to come with me.” He raised a brow at her questioningly and feigned to lose eye contact with her.

“Of course I will,” She nodded faintly. “Yes, just let me know where, where to meet you.”

He nodded and they stared at each other. He’d gotten taller, she was now realizing. How old was he? Fourteen? She wasn’t sure but he was very tall.

She snapped herself out of height reveries and her mind was assaulted by the things she had learned today.

“Do you think I’d make a good Slytherin?” She asked randomly.

He raised his eyebrows in surprised, “Oh, er, I don’t—”

“Good-night,” She spun on her heel, knowing where she needed to go.

She met up with Ron and Hermione and worked on the little homework they had been assigned. Hermione and Persephone bid Ron goodnight and they went up to their dorm. Persephone waited thirty minutes before she slipped out of bed, and, grabbing her map, she went down to the common room silently.

It was empty, thank gods. It took a simple maneuver to float up to the portrait of Godric Gryffindor. Unlike the portrait of Salazar Slytherin in the Gryffindor common room, the passageway wasn’t behind the frame. It was _through_ the painting. Literally, right through the painting. She had to assume only people who knew of the passageway could pass through.

She appeared in the alcove and stepped down to the stone floor. The light floated through the room immediately upon stepping foot on the floor and she peered around.

“Good evening, founders of Hogwarts,” She breathed as the paintings came alive. “I found your heir.” She told Slytherin.

“Where is he?” The man asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

She smiled, “The heir you remember died in Azkaban fifty years ago and the current heir isn’t a he, it’s a she. And she requires help.”

“She?” Slytherin now paid her his full attention, “And I suppose you are to be this she?”

She nodded once, “I am.”

He started laughing, like really laughing, almost as if this was the first joke he’d heard in decades to him, “You? A Gryffindor student? Don’t make me laugh!”

She raised her brows, folding her arms, “That’s what I came for and you have to help because I’m your heir.”

“Oho!” He bellowed incredulously, “You? You make demands of me? I, the great Salazar Slytherin, founder of the most honorable—”

In her hands, she scooped up air, willing for the oxygen to fuel her magic up and a flame popped up in her hand. She raised a brow and inched closer to his portrait, “It’s a simple yes or no question and I find you are more than motivated to answer it, no?”

His eyes on the fire in her palm, he stared at her then, narrowing his eyes, “Only a foolish girl would believe that the greatest wizards of the time would have not cast fire-resistant spells on their portraits.”

She giggled, “The school was built because the spell had yet to be created and magical children were being burnt alive all over the country, so no, I don’t believe that. I do believe that you must be rather willing now, knowing I’m not a foolish girl.”

He turned his chin up and then, to her surprise, a smirk crossed his face, “And this question? What are you willing to contribute in return?”

She cocked her head to the side. Of course Slytherin would want something in return—no doubt the opening of his chamber of whatever and the purging of muggleborns.

She almost laughed. Salazar Slytherin was so easy.

“I’ll open your Chamber of Secrets,” She smiled and received the reaction she’d expected.

Rowena Ravenclaw gasped and Helga Hufflepuff sputtered while Godric Gryffindor roared, “Are you mad?”

She didn’t take her eyes off Slytherin, who had a wicked smile growing on his face. “My Chamber of Secrets has been in the same place for all of time, and will always be hidden behind the snake, though its disguise has changed since its original time. The only hint I can offer you is that it will be on the second floor and no higher.”

It didn’t matter where it was, or how ominous this statement was, because she wouldn’t be opening any chamber, especially not one that would end up killing muggleborns, or anyone for that matter.

“And now…your question.”

 _Finally_.

“The heirs of the founders ought to end up in their ancestor’s houses, should they not?” She asked carefully, watching his reaction. From the corner of her eye, she saw Rowena Ravenclaw’s portrait stiffen up.

His face was nearly unreadable, but she knew he was definitely satisfied, “Yes, they should.”

She nodded, mostly to herself, and then smiled, “Okay.”

There was something glinting in Salazar Slytherin’s dark eyes and then he said, “Such a prize…”

There was nothing left to do now except wait. She knew with great confidence that Snape would have no objections to having Persephone switch into his house. It was only the very first week of the school year, and she knew the total of house points she had earned in the last three days was less than ten.

Considering her Quidditch team position, she was sure Oliver could find someone else to replace her. She would not join the Slytherin Quidditch team, for she was not going to put up with Marcus Flint. Besides, she was sure she would not be able to even try out, as Marcus Flint had a strict, all boys team. She would not fit in there like she did on the Gryffindor team. But she was willing to give Quidditch up for being in the right house.

She had proof of a connection to the house founder, and that alone would give her a key into the house. She was a half-blood and her non-magical ways could diversify the house’s purity status and she had ideas of starting a non-magical club. It would send a good message about Slytherin house if the Girl Who Lived was in the house. Plus, she looked really good in the colors. All she needed was to pitch a good enough speech to Dumbledore in the morning.

Maybe he’d have her collect Snape and McGonagall’s permission in written form. She hoped not, as the latter would be hard to convince.

She could be with Daphne, as a plus, though she was sure Daphne was still upset. Her stomach turned over at the thought of her being upset at Persephone. Daphne was not someone she was willing to lose because a boy…but that boy was Hades and he needed her, or seemed to, as he was going to a funeral with his biological family…but then there was Daphne. She didn’t want to choose between the two…not Hades, and not Daphne…pretty, astonishing Daphne, with the way she spoke and the way her hair looked in the sun…She might go mad if Daphne didn’t speak to her again…

_She was walking down a long hallway. It was nicely decorated with thick carpet and wallpaper, and she would have appreciated the nice décor had it not been dark and spooky. The more she walked, she more paranoid she became, glancing behind her every few seconds. It felt like something was chasing after her and the walls seemed to start closing in on her. Finally, she became so frantic that she broke into a sprint._

_Unfortunately, dream Persephone had a thing for aesthetics so she obviously she was wearing an ankle length sundress that got caught on something and she stumbled down onto the floor. She turned around, back on her elbows and was trying to shove herself up onto her feet but she couldn’t and she was panicking so badly that her panting had turned to screams._

_Then, everything quieted. She felt a light behind her lids and, still gasping for air, she opened her eyes. She was still in the dark, on the floor but there was a light coming from the room down the hall. Knowing it was a bad idea, she got up slowly and trembling, she walked back down the hall, back in the direction she knew something dangerous loomed._

_When she stood by the room, she found something that scared her—it was a man and a woman sitting in front of the fire place, the man in the armchair, staring into the fire and the woman curled up against the loveseat, a book placed open in her lap. They looked up at the same time when Persephone looked inside, but that wasn’t what scared her._

_The picture was too warm, too nice to belong here. Everywhere around her was something bad, though she couldn’t quite pin point what it was. She just knew it was bad. Still…she hesitated before entering the room._

_“Oh, my love, did you have a nightmare?” She smiled warmly, reaching one arm out for Persephone._

_Persephone couldn’t resist—she walked eagerly towards the woman, standing in front of her. The man smiled at her as approached, in a way she’d never been smiled at. Like she was the most important thing to him._

_“Baby?”_

She sat up, choking for air, unable to discern where she was for a moment, but she knew well this wasn’t the place she wanted to be.

She was staring at bright golden eyes. Salem was coiled up in a defensive manner at the end of her bed, making a low, glowering sound. His ears were down and he was hissing. She reached for him, confused, and he yowled at her loudly. She jumped back and decided she ought to give him space.

It was five in the morning and much too early to be getting ready but she did anyway. She felt empty as she brushed her hair up into a pony tail and straightened her uniform out, like she was moving in slow motion. She felt off, like she was wearing a layer of fake skin or something.

She sat at her desk and pulled her map out. All the name were crammed into the house common rooms—the Hufflepuffs in the basement, the Slytherins in the dungeons, the Ravenclaws in the second tallest tower (second to her own house) and the Gryffindors in the familiar tower.

She unfolded sectors of the map, examining the corridors and finding Peeves bouncing around on the third floor, Madame Hooch running her usual morning laps, and Dumbledore seemed to be pacing back and forth in what was referred to as the Headmaster’s Tower. The tower was made up of three, supported by magic, obviously.

She brightened—she knew where Dumbledore was, right this second. She knew where he was, and he was alone. She had no appointment and it was five-thirty in the morning, but was she likely to get an appointment any time today? Most likely not. Maybe it would make a good impression that she was up very early—showed determination.

She followed the map closely, avoiding any ghosts and cats wandering the halls. The sun was just rising when she was standing outside his office. The tower was guarded by a large and ugly stone gargoyle and she shivered—it reminded her of her run in with the gargoyle in the library. She narrowed her eyes—could this gargoyle been the one following her?

She shook the thought away and slid the map into her bag, and eyed the gargoyle—did she need a password or could she simply knock?

_I do recall it being password protected._

‘Well, what would Dumbledore’s password be?’

_Ah, well, he was not the headmaster during my time at Hogwarts but I would have to assume it would be something rather clever, no?_

‘Clever…?’ She thought hard. What would he use? The only thing she knew of the headmaster was that he liked…candy?

“Er…Chocolate Frog?”

She felt so stupid.

_Candy? Would the so-proclaimed brilliant Headmaster choose a candy related password?_

‘Worth a shot’, she thought as she said, “Licorice wand?” Nothing. “Wait, Licorice Snap?” Again, nothing. “Fizzing Whizzbees?” That was what she thought it would be but again, nothing, “Pumpkin Pasty?” Ugh! Nothing! “Sherbet lemon!?” She screamed, forgetting that was a non-magical sweet.

She turned around, crossing her arms and turning back to find that _sherbet lemon_ was evidently the right password, because the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. She gaped at it—she was about to turn around and walk away.

Behind the wall was a spiral staircase that was moving smoothly upward, like an escalator. She raised a brow and shrugged. She’d come this far. She stepped onto it and the wall closed with a thud behind her. No going back now. She rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last, slightly dizzy, Persephone came upon a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.

She took a deep breath and leaned up, knocking three times. He was still pacing, according to the brief glance at the map. The doors opened silently but she didn’t hear anyone.

“H…headmaster?” She called out, leaning into the room.

“Ah, it is early in the year for a visit, but please,” She heard, “Come in.”

She walked in and had to pause—she had visited many teacher’s offices but none looked as interesting or cluttered as Dumbledore’s.

It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered wizard’s hat—the Sorting Hat.

Then she caught sight of a bird, a very pretty bird with crimson feathers and a long, golden tail. It was about the size of a swan and had all the grace of a swan too. The bird looked at Persephone in just as much interest, seeming to admire her right back, with black eyes.

“It is not often Fawkes has taken such an interest in someone,” Professor Dumbledore spoke from her left. She looked at him and he was smiling kindly at her. She smiled automatically before turning her eyes back to the bird.

“A phoenix, isn’t it?” She asked, admiring its long golden beak and claws of the same color.

Dumbledore hummed, coming near her without a sound, almost like he was floating, “He is.”

She thought of telling Dumbledore of her cat but thought better of it. Students were only allowed one pet and she had an owl and cat. Somehow, she’d yet to be caught and she’d like to keep it that way. She had the Gryffindors to thank—no one was a snitch. She’d be able to catch a snitch in her own house—she was the house’s seeker.

Ha!

 _Concentrate, Persephone. You’ve got him here_.

“Professor, I’ve got something to ask you,” She started, looking at him.

He was still staring at his pet bird, “A most handsome creature, isn’t he?”

“Er, yes, sir, he is.” She nodded, “But I…”

“There’s an old legend about the Dumbledore family,” He said. “Phoenixes come to a Dumbledore in need.”

Silence fell upon them. She looked around, confused. “Sir?”

“A wonderful companion, phoenixes. Very loyal. And very crucial, should you become injured. They have very powerful healing powers in their tears. Of course, I assume you know this, as I’ve heard you’ve joined the Potions club,” He said and she was thankful for the opening.

“I have,” She breathed a smile, “I have and I do know that. We stock the hospital wing and I didn’t know that…” She coughed.

She was threading together her little speech as Dumbledore settled himself in the high chair behind the desk. It was a little harder to keep her thoughts together when he fixed her with a penetrating, light blue stare, “Please, what might I help you with on this fine morning?”

“Sir,” She began, taking a seat. “I’ve been thinking, for a long time, actually, since I was sorted that I don’t…fit in. Into Gryffindor, I mean.”

He said nothing, only gestured for her to continue.

“I understand how irresponsible of me it is to wait until now, a year after being sorted, to tell you this, but I know now that I won’t be able to rise to my full potential. Not in Gryffindor.”

“And where do you believe you can?” He asked.

She felt her heart lighten. That was good, right? That he was asking her questions rather than shutting her down immediately. “In Slytherin. I believe that I belong in Slytherin house. The sorting hat nearly put me in it—”

“Ah,” He interrupted her, nodding. “Well, you must see that you have given yourself a reason that transferring would not be suitable.”

“But sir, please, I have—” She was ready to pull out her receipts of how she was related to Slytherin but he interrupted her once more.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Potter, but the Sorting Hat has been used since the very first year that this school has been opened and to allow a student to transfer now would cause for a lot of trouble amongst the other students and the board.” He did seem genuine at least, but this fact did not soothe Persephone.

“Hades Black wasn’t sorted by the Sorting Hat, was he?” She dared to challenge, raising a brow.

He blinked slowly, a silent denial of complete calm, “Hades Black is a very unique student, presenting unique situations, including his sorting, which I may remind you, does not concern you,” He had never been such a…headmaster, an authority figure, never to her. “Now, if that is all, I suggest perhaps you get some sleep. It is rather early and those extra minutes of slumber do unimaginable wonders.”

She never did get to experience those unimaginable wonders because she was, to put it nicely, upset. To put it rudely, she was murderous. She’d never been angry like she was now—she felt her blood boil and she wanted to choke something.

She had rushed to the nearest bathroom—she was so angry she was crying, letting cries of frustration out.

“Who is he to decide who I am?! It’s—it’s wrong!” She cried out, “I am my own person! His being headmaster has nothing to do with who I am and where I belong!”

_Why is it do you believe he said no?_

“Because—because,” She was struggling with words. “He’s afraid because Slytherin has produced the most amount of dark wizards, powerful dark wizards…and he knows how powerful I can be…maybe he thinks I’ll learn and become more powerful than him.”

_Perhaps…_

“Voldemort is scared of him but I’ve killed him twice now,” She spoke without thought. “He should be afraid of me, not that old loony man.”

_How long has he been headmaster now?_

“Far too long!”

_Then perhaps he has served his purpose to the best of his ability and it is time for a change in headmaster…_

She collapsed against the wall, “And how am I to have a hand in that? Write to the board of governors? He’s much too respected for anyone to actually do anything.”

_Well then, perhaps you can._

“I can what? I can’t simply declare him unfit for the position of headmaster!” She covered her hand with her arms, “I’m a second year. No one would back me up.”

_Well…perhaps you wouldn’t need to declare him unfit…should a situation arise where he is unable to handle his school, then perhaps the governors will see to it themselves that he is clearly too old for this job…_

“I have an idea,” She said, lifting her head up to look at the sink in interest. What had Moaning Myrtle said? That the sink had worked for years? Salazar Slytherin said that his little chamber was on the second floor, but it moved all the way under the school…like a plumbing map.

Tom caught onto her train of thought as she stood up,

_A fine idea, for sure, but to be caught—_

“I won’t get caught,” She said quickly, touching the sink. Its coolness sent a shiver down her spine.

_Your confidence will be your downfall. An accomplice, however, will save you from this fatal flaw._

She eyed the faucet with interest, remembering that Moaning Myrtle had said she, Persephone, had been able to turn it on for the first time in decades. Then she recalled how she had looked into the eyes of something in this very spot and had died…her heart leapt.

She very faintly remembered that Tom was speaking to her, “An accomplice?”

_Someone who is willing to help you without asking too many question. Someone loyal to you._

She breathed a laugh at the coincidence, “I just so happen to be going to a funeral with him tomorrow morning.”

She had neglected asking about what differs a magical funeral from a non-magical funeral. She knew the basic dress code for a non-magical community’s funeral—wear modest, all black clothing. She was up on Friday morning very early, having showered and thoroughly brushed through her wet curls. Now she was stood in a bathrobe, staring at three different, all black outfits. The thought of an all-black dress code not being appropriate for a funeral had not come to her until that moment.

Lavender ended up coming to her rescue, and, being from both magical and non-magical communities, she styled Persephone accordingly. Persephone adorned a black nearly-off the shoulder, canoe neckline cut A-line dress that went down just below her knees in a full skirt fashion, tightened in a flattering manner until her waist with long sleeves until her wrists. Her hair was twisted into a half-up do with loose waves and long down her back.

She felt slightly out of place, standing in the Great Hall dressed in black as students passed by, passing her strange glances. She was burning red with this attention, until finally, Daphne Greengrass came to her rescue.

“Oh, Lily, I am grateful you will be at the funeral,” She told Persephone, holding both her hands. “I am ashamed to admit these occasions draw on far too long.”

Daphne looked radiant, her beautiful golden hair curled in bouncy ringlets with a hat pinned to the side of her head. She wore a boat-neck sleeveless black dress with lace adorning the front. She had a belt around her waist that had a little skirt attached to it that wasn’t a part of the dress but looked like it was. On her wrist she kept a tiny little clutch. She complimented her tiny strapped heels with a kiss on each cheek.

“Is this your first wizarding funeral?” Daphne little sister, Astoria, asked. Daphne gasped, sending her sister a warning look. “What!? She didn’t go to her parents’ funeral!”

“Oh my—Astoria! I am so sorry, Lily, truly, my _sister_ ,” She said through clenched teeth, “Has _forgotten_ her _manners_.”

Persephone barely reacted to the younger girl, as she caught site of a tall, dark haired boy. She raised her hand but he had his eyes on her already. She met him half-way and took him in—he was wearing very nice dress robes of black, of course. She always forgot he was older than her. Now it was impossible to ignore, what with his handsome features on display with a well fitted top that hugged his shoulder, a black collared shirt under that first layer. He wore black leather gloves and was just now throwing an outer robe on with two silver pendants that were engraved with what looked like the Slytherin crest that linked with chains right by the collarbone that went down to his knees.

She suddenly smiled, “We match.”

Persephone’s outer robe was similar with the gold chain, but in a black velvet and shorter to fit her more feminine style, as were the slash armholes. But the pendants on hers were gold and lion engraved at the neckline and she had a fold-over collar. His collar was unfolded and went up to his jaw.

“Amazing, the freaks match, can we go?” Draco asked coming up behind his cousin. She noticed how similarly they dressed, though Draco has a green handkerchief in his breast pocket. Then she noticed that Astoria had green flowers embroidered into her sleeves, and Daphne had green jewelry on.

“Yes, shall we?” Pansy crossed her arms, coming up by Draco. She had a green silk ribbon in her hair.

“Were we supposed to wear house colors?” She asked, suddenly cold.

“Hmph,” Pansy scoffed, “This is why we don’t allow half-bloods into pureblooded events.”

“She isn’t a half-blood, she’s a Potter.” Daphne gave Pansy a look, and then smiled to Persephone, “It’s a custom but I’m sure it wouldn’t matter if you didn’t. ”

“She’s got that ugly red hair of hers, that should be enough, shouldn’t it?” Draco smirked.

Hades stepped forward, brandishing his wand, “Stay still for a second.” She felt a hiss and then something moved her hair. A silk, golden ribbon was tied to the upper part of her hair. “There, gold and red. Works fine.”

“Very pretty,” Daphne complimented with a smile. “Impressive wandmanship, Hades.”

He hummed, hiding his wand back up his sleeve, “Shall we?”

There a carriage waiting, pulled by a group of thestrals, of which a smaller one recognized Hades immediately, jumping excitedly. Hades seemed to need to hold himself in from going to the thestrals, only waving subtly at them, as if they could understand. Persephone wouldn’t be surprised if they could.

It was still September, so the weather hadn’t gotten too cold, but it was still early so the outer robes were needed. The boys, practiced with gentlemen manners probably, let the girls go in with a hand, before getting in themselves. Daphne seemed to make her intentions clear with the other purebloods and neither Pansy nor Draco took their place next to Hades, who sat opposite from Persephone. This gave Daphne a nice seat next to him, her sister by her other side. This, however, meant Pansy and Draco had a silent eye fight about who was stuck next to Persephone. Persephone would be dissatisfied with either so she kept quiet, staring out the window.

It was a clear morning. The short carriage ride would take them to Hogsmeade, where they would head into the Hogsmeade Post Office. It was a building that housed at least two-hundred to three-hundred owls, ranging from Great Grey Owls to tiny Scops, the latter for local deliveries only. They were all nestled on colour-coded shelves, the colour based on how quickly they will arrive to where they needed to go. In the back of the shop, in the privacy of a back room, there were several fireplaces connected to the Floo Network.

The shopkeeper was expecting them, and a young intern boy escorted them from the front counter to the back. From there, they took a specialized, prefixed floo fireplace. Persephone, with a bad enough experience with floo powder, decided against tagging along with Hades when offered. Daphne was going with her sister and she was sure she wouldn’t be too happy with Persephone taking the floo powder with Hades. She would rather go alone than with Pansy or Draco, and that’s exactly as she did.

Fortunately, it seemed in a place of business, floo powder worked marvellously in not dirtying the traveler up.

Where they came out was entirely different. Daphne and Astoria were having their robes being taken by two men, one stout and the other tall, both dressed in the same servant’s clothing. She allowed for her own robe to be taken from her shoulders and strayed closer to the blonde girl. She felt suddenly sheepish, but reminded herself she had a task: at some point she had to get Hades alone to ask of him a favor.

Easy enough, as he came to stand by her, refusing for his own robe to be taken. He stopped the other servant half-way through taking her robe and pulled it back up her shoulders, pushing her gently forward and away from everyone else.

“We’ll be just a minute,” He threw over his shoulder and she didn’t get a chance to see Daphne’s expression at this.

It seemed the first room, the room they had come out of the fireplace from, was a receiving room. Large windows let in white light from the outside into the small room. Hades led them through a door opposite to the fireplaces, and then she understood that they must have been in the infamous Malfoy Manor.

She’d seen some pictures of the outside, as several articles had been produced in some article about architecture— Magical Architecture Daily, or something along the lines of. She knew it looked somewhat more like a castle on the outside and she had wondered how anyone could live in such a dramatic place.

Now, she understood that any original castle like architecture on the inside had been updated. It was somewhat the height of luxury, with high ceilings with Greek styled columns or white marble and intricate crystal chandeliers. The windows were high and framed with thick, expensive velvet curtains with paintings dotting artistically here and there along the walls. There were long, winding staircases in the large entrance hall with a large _M_ carved beautifully into the flooring.

There were some hints to the building’s original architecture, which made it seem like time was unmoving, stuck between ancient and moderns times—the furniture was Victorian, the murals depicted people that Persephone recognized from the 17th century and there were dungeons beneath them, according to Hades. It was more art than home.

They passed into the entrance hall, where Persephone saw through a large doorway between the big staircases that people, funeral guests, had arrived beforehand and were mingling quietly with each other. Hades, however, led them away quickly, up the stairs.

“Where are we—woah.”

Up the stairs, hanging on the wall was a grand tapestry, one seeming to depict the Malfoy family tree. For a moment, she didn’t understand why it was so large, but then she remembered the Mafloy family was one of the oldest pureblooded family in Britain.

“Hey!” Persephone whispered excitedly—she didn’t think raising her voice above that of a whisper was appropriate for this setting—stepping closer, “You’re here!”

Close by to Draco Malfoy, Hades Inferno (????) Black was depicted underneath Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black. There was no father but there was a line connecting Bellatrix Lestrange to a Rodolphus Lestrange, though there was no connection between Hades and Rodolphus. She remembered him telling her at Gringotts that his mother had married a man that wasn’t his father.

“You’re father?” She asked, looking over to him, wondering if it was insensitive to ask.

He was staring hard at the tapestry, at his own name.

“I meant to bring this up before, but then I didn’t think you think it was right to do something like this at a funeral,” He said. He drew his eyes from the tapestry to nearly blind her with intensity. “But I was hoping for a favor.”

Tom spoke in her mind and she suddenly almost smiled, “Is that why you gave me a family tree of my own? So I would owe you?”

He blinked, “How did you know?”

“Wasn’t hard to guess,” She pursed her lips, “This is your grandfather’s funeral, so shouldn’t your father’s relatives be here as well?”

“Most pureblooded families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight are invited—”

She frowned, “What is that?”

“It’s a list that was published anonymously in the 1930s with twenty-nine families that made the cut as truly pureblooded in Great Britain,” He explained. “It’s families everyone know, like Abbott, Black, Greengrass, Lestrange, Longbottom, Malfoy, Nott, Ollivander, Parkinson, Prewett, Slughorn, Weasley,” She was happy that she recognized the names he listed, though it may be because he was listing the names he knew she would recognized.

“It became the Sacred Twenty-Eight when the Potters were taken off the list sometime in the forties, no offense.”

“I wouldn’t be offended,” She retorted, “And why anonymous? Its obvious the author is another pureblood.”

He snorted, “Everyone knows it was Cantankerus Nott but its not confirmed.”

“So then your father’s relatives are here?” She asked, looking down from the balcony. Some more guests had arrived—The Greengrasses with the Parkinsons, it seemed. Draco was nowhere in sight.

“Unless he wasn’t a pureblood,” Hades said, a brow perking up. “And purebloods only marry purebloods usually, if they’re on the Sacred Twenty-Eight, which means—”

“He may not be a pureblood,” She didn’t mean for her mouth to fall open, it was simply an instinct, “Would that be the family stuff that sent you to America?”

“I’m trying to find out here, Seph, and I’m cashing in the favor,” He raised his brows, and she slapped his shoulder.

“Of course I’d help you! You don’t need to be so sketchy about it!” She remembered when he was helping her with her wand business and had done something very similar to this. “How can I help?”

There was an office, a private office, kept by Lucius Malfoy. It was on the east wing, on the third floor. It was kept locked with a key that was on Lucius Malfoy at all times of the day. Hades was sure there had to be a record of his father in that room and Persephone had to agree that there was likely some proof in the office. She’d forgotten entirely of asking him to do her a favor of her own, putting her mind instead to the task at hand.

The funeral was a quiet affair of no real distinct characteristic—it was exactly as Persephone expected a funeral to be. It was closed casket, with some people going up to speak some words. There were more mutterings of what a terrible man Cygnus had been, miserable and rude into his latest years. His death was something expected.

What she did not expect were people coming up to Hades congratulating him on the inheritance. He was now the only living Black heir, eligible in both youth, law and blood for the inheritance. It was a strange occurrence the first time but even weirder the seventh.

Finally, when people dispersed to the dining hall for a light meal, Hades separated from Persephone for the first time. She watched him carefully, watched him cross the room with such confidence that for a moment, she wondered how he could not belong in any scene. He was something that could fit into the house that was more art than home. She imagined he was perhaps one of the most intricately built people, not physically in the way he looked but the way he carried himself. He was tall and he was kind and his smile was a rare but oddly amazing thing and she nearly missed her cue.

With a wave of her wand, the key he had managed off Lucius Malfoy floated into his hand quickly and subtly and he looked as though he was merely passing by his uncle

She started towards their planned meeting spot when she became aware of a tall blonde woman having come to stand by her side.

Narcissa Malfoy stood very tall compared to Persephone, and she wasn’t even wearing that tall of a heel.

“I’m…sorry for your loss, Mrs. Malfoy,” Persephone said, thinking it was appropriate enough. Lucius Malfoy didn’t intimidate her, but Narcissa Malfoy? Different story.

“Hmm,” She hummed, “You and my nephew seem oddly close for such an age gap.”

Persephone, confused as to how she was supposed to respond to this, said, “I guess…?”

“I understand you and my nephew will be spending quite some time together due to your partnership in dance,” She said suddenly, not turning her head to look at Persephone.

Taken aback, she nodded. Then, awkwardly, she cleared her throat, “Yes, I suppose we will be spending time together.” Then she tried laughing, “Truthfully, I didn’t even know he knew how to dance.”

“Every young wizard should have an affinity to dance, I made sure of this point when we received him,” Narcissa Malfoy finally looked at her. Persephone did not enjoy how she spoke of Hades like a package in the mail. “Do tell me, how long have you been dancing?”

“Since I was two years old,” She answered automatically, wondering where this conversation was heading.

She turned to look at her, “And do you believe yourself a worthy enough dancer to be the leading lady dancing for Hogwarts?” Persephone stared and then mumbled something that even she could not understand. Narcissa cocked a brow. “Pardon me?”

“I—I don’t know,” Persephone answered truthfully—she wasn’t dancing to become a professional ballerina. At least, she didn’t think she was…

“You don’t know?” Both her perfect brows raised, “Young lady, I may have to suggest you put on some more confident before one of your teachers before I decide Miss Parkinson will do a better job at winning this championship.”

Persephone’s mouth dried and she nodded fervently, feeling cold all over. Narcissa’s chin raised and she nodded. Persephone wanted so badly to excuse herself but she was currently terrified, frozen in her place.

“I am unsure of how you and my nephew have become each other’s equals but do not let me find out you have taken this competition any less seriously than it is. I will make sure you never dance again,” She promised, before stepping away, “If you’ll excuse me.”

Finally freed from her icy stare, Persephone let a breath she didn’t know she was holding out and clamped her clammy hands into fists. _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…_

She rushed from the room, checking thrice to make sure the coast was clear, before climbing the stairs quickly to the balcony. Hades was waiting. Without a word, he nodded forward and led her through the Manor.

She could barely concentrate on the beautiful details of the manor with hysteria bubbling in her throat. He unlocked the door on the third floor, on the east wing and then pushed the door open without a creak.

She walked in and closed the door behind them before leaning up against it and allowing herself to take a deep, shaky breath.

Hades froze, his eyes on her, “What’s wrong?”

“I think you’re aunt just threatened to break my legs,” Persephone mumbled distantly.

His eyes widened, “What?”

“Or maybe she meant she was going to amputate them…” Tears burned behind Persephone’s eyes. She started shaking, “I don’t know—”

“Seph,” Hades was panicking now, unsure of what to do when he put his hand on Persephone’s shoulder.

“You have to promise me, you have to promise me that we will practice the dance—okay? However long it takes, okay? I don’t care how many hours or on what days or if you haven’t slept! We need to win, okay? I don’t want to lose my legs, Lavender promised me she’d give me a pedicure and I’ve never painted my nails before, okay, and I want to wear anklets and—” A sob shook her shoulders and she couldn’t breathe.

“OKAY!” Hades’ hands came down on both her shoulders, “We will be the best duet, I promise you. We will win, okay? I promise.”

No matter the ridiculous promise, he was trying and she was grateful. She had let some tears roll down her cheeks, hot and burning and she stared up at Hades. Suddenly, she understood what it meant for a heart to skip a beat. Hers was skipping rocks, skipping rope in her ribcage. He had let his hands slide down her arms and hold her hands. They were warm.

Suddenly, he let his hands drop and she felt a cold sensation down her middle as he stumbled away, “Okay, so I have a spell—” Before he could finish whatever he was saying, he bumped into the wall, right by a mounted deer head.

Normal enough, except for when the deer bent down and bit his shoulder. She screamed and surged forward, slapping the deer as he pushed it off.

“What the hell!?”

“I should warn you everything will probably be cursed or something,” He said, rubbing his shoulders. “I’m fine, I think. Doesn’t feel poisonous—”

“Poisonous?” She mouthed to herself incredulously.

“Look through those books over there, I’ll take the desk.”

They got to work. The private office wasn’t large but it was expansive, with shelves and paintings, a fireplace and desk with one large window. She went through the book carefully, as to check if one would give an unexpected reaction. When she finished the shelf, she turned around and froze, confused.

She suddenly realized something drastic had changed in the room, “Hades.”

“What?”

“Hades, the deer is gone.”

He looked over to her, confused, “What?”

“The deer,” She pointed with one arm, unable to react with her face. “It’s gone.”

He jumped up from the desk and grimaced at the blank wall where the mounted deer head was just a second ago, flabbergasted, “Where did it go?!”

“Oh my god,” She suddenly gasped, looking at his shoulder where the deer had bitten her friend, “Oh my god, was the bite infectious?”

He wasn’t paying attention, “Was it a spy, do you think? Like a painting?”

“Are you going to turn into a were-deer?!” She cried out, covering her mouth.

“What?”

They both stared at each other and he went to speak once more but a distant but very obvious pair of what sounded like footsteps interrupted him. The both froze, deer like expressions on their face, as much as Persephone didn’t want to think about deers at the moment.

Persephone reacted quicker than Hades, running at him and pulling him along by the arm, and under the desk, hiding from the door. They listened carefully, holding their breath, as the footsteps came and then went. For a moment, they listened the silence, and thanked their lucky stars—usually when they were up to no good and there were footsteps nearby, it meant someone would catch them. Or reveal an evil plot of some sort. They were safe in this case.

And then she realized they were sitting so close, they were share a breath. She pushed herself out from under the desk and away from him, “We should go.”

He nodded, before grabbing the book he’d grabbed and pointing his wand at it, before pointing at the parchment he pulled out of his pocket. He grinned quickly, “Magic copy and paste. It saves lives.”

They paused by the balcony, deciding it would look less suspicious if they were five minutes apart. Persephone went first, looking very lowkey as she wandered down the stairs. She recognized the Greengrass family—Estelle and William Greengrass. She smiled as she approached them, “Hello.”

“Ah, Persephone Potter!” William smiled widely, “What a horrible way to make your acquaintance once more!”

She shook his hand in good humor and kissed Estelle’s cheeks as pureblooded women often did to greet each other.

“Well now, I am not surprised to see you here—you are friends with the young Mr. Black aren’t you?” William asked. “A good young lad, isn’t he?”

“Oh, Will!” Estelle chided, sighing in a light tone. “Leave the poor girl alone!”

“Well now, Stella, I’d like to be sure of the man I’ve promised to my daughter!” He was smiling in amusement nonetheless, something that seemed so out of place as the words registered with Persephone. “He is a good boy, isn’t he?”

“He is…the best person I know,” She said, slowly grasping at what the words could possibly mean.

“Ah, if the Girl Who Lived can say such a thing about a boy his age, then I must say he will make for a fine husband for my Daphne,” He nodded, chuckling to himself.

Persephone’s smile was frozen, and her eyes drifted to Hades, coming down the stairs. Suddenly, a lot became clear to her and she wished she hadn’t had Tom in her mind to make things so painfully clear. Daphne’s actions, her reactions…they had seen each other over the summer…they were purebloods, from two of the families of the stupid Sacred Twenty-Eight… _purebloods only marry purebloods_.

A different emotion churned in her chest that caused for a terribly disgusting taste in the back of her throat. She thought she would be sick.

Persephone felt oddly out of place when she was back in the castle.

It felt like she wasn’t in the right mind, like she wasn’t wearing her clothes, that she was lost. She was late to two classes and she couldn’t use the excuse of the funeral causing her tardiness. She didn’t care much.

 _Stay focused, Persephone._ Tom was quick in picking up her blank mind, as he was literally in her mind. _Remember your goal_.

‘The chamber, yes…’ She closed her eyes, laying her head on the desk that she, Ron and Hermione were working at. ‘Right…right…what could Salazar Slytherin possibly have left behind when he left?’

_Something to have helped with the wiping of the muggleborns. Something with a mind of its own. Something dangerous, something unique to Slytherins…_

And then the answer was clear to her: ‘Basilisk! Of course. A basilisk would do the job nice and proper wouldn’t it…it kills people with just a glance…I don’t want to kill anyone.’

_Then what is it you plan?_

‘People who indirectly look at a basilisk are stunned. I just need to get a bunch of people to indirectly look at a large snake, which shouldn’t be too hard,’ Her thoughts were quickly unwinding. ‘If enough people are stunned under Dumbledore’s watch, the board of governors will need to step in and it’ll be the last thing he does as headmaster. I just need a bunch of mirrors…’

_There is still the question of an accomplice. You have decided against Hades Black. Do you have anyone else in mind? We must get to work with your lessons and you need your entire focus._

She lifted her head to find Gary Weasley staring at her. He looked away quickly, turning a tomato red that reached his flaming hair.

‘I have a very good idea of who.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Any predictions? I have a twitter now! Come follow me! @veronaaurora


	8. The Blood of Liars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Persephone breaks boundaries and is acting very OOC...wonder why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....it's been a hot minute. 
> 
> I've been thinking about the future of this fic a lot, but I just haven't been writing it...which happens a lot more than I'd like to admit. I'll have more to say about the chapter in the end notes, but for now, I'll be trying to update more regularly. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Persephone woke up in a terrible mood for three different reasons. 

Firstly, because she was unable to stop thinking about Daphne and Hades. Gorgeous, kind, pure-blooded Daphne Greengrass and her good friend. It was the worst feeling that twisted her stomach, she couldn’t even think about them together without gagging. Worst even was that Daphne was taller than Persephone and standing next to Hades would look much better than Persephone doing the same. 

Secondly, he hadn’t  _ told _ her. Hades hadn’t told  _ her _ . They went through monthly full moons together and struggled in the aftermath. How many times had she had to pry his hands from themselves, to clean up blood for him? He reset her bones for her should the rare occasion arise without bringing it to the attention of Madame Pomfrey. She’d rather he break her bones than lie to her. 

But then technically, he hadn’t lied. It felt like he had betrayed her. 

Thirdly, because Oliver Wood woke her up rather early that morning and no one enjoys being woken up so early on Saturday mornings, especially in the manner that Oliver chose. He stood over her and held an old snitch right by her ear, the noise waking her up almost as if it were an instinct. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she looked around wildly—“Wh—Oliver!?”

“Up and at ‘em! We’ve got Quidditch practice!” Oliver Wood was a tall and burly sixth year whose eyes gleamed with a crazed enthusiasm only people who hadn’t slept in days could muster. 

She blinked a few more times and then realized, “How did you get in here? This is the girl’s dormitory and you’re a boy…”

“I’m gay,” He replied, as if this explained him being in the dorm, “Now come on! Get dressed and grab your broom!”

Wanting to die, Persephone climbed out of bed and looked for her flying robes, taking a moment to look out the window. It was dark out, no hint of dawn arriving any time soon. She checked her watch and she closed her eyes—no one said Oliver wasn’t a maniac for Quidditch. She thought about his privilege of being let up the staircase—she supposed he had no mal intentions for anyone in the dorms—and wondered if he would still be able to have that privilege should his sexuality be different.

Five minutes later—dressed and fresh—Persephone met the team down in the common room while braiding her hair in two French braids. She’d left a note for Hermione, trying hard not to be envious of her privilege of sleeping in a few more hours. Oliver raised his brows at her drowsy, half-asleep expression before tossing her his broom and pulling her up onto his back, piggyback style. It was hard to fall asleep with Oliver bouncing every step, and even harder when they got outside, into the cold morning air. 

In the changing room, she sat on the floor doing her morning stretches. This only reminded her that she and Hades were partnered up. She tried ignoring the feeling in her stomach and instead held a splits position for longer than necessary. Then she stood while Oliver took out some boards and placed them up on a stand. She lifted her leg well up over her shoulder, hooking her ankle under one of the hooks to be able to hold it longer. The girls sputtered at her while George tried to copy her, only getting his leg up with bending it. She giggled at his puffy-eyed and tousle haired state trying to stretch. 

Alicia and Katie were nodding off while Angelina Johnson was trying to keep her blood pumping by doing jumping jacks. 

“Alright, good morning team!” Oliver said, being the only person awake. She had the strangest idea that he had not slept all night. “I wanted to have a quick chat with you all before we get onto the field.”

The quick chat was composed of several large diagrams of a Quidditch field with lines, arrows and crosses drawn on with different colored inks. He took out his wand and tapped the board, allowing for the arrows to begin to move across the board. Oliver started explaining his speech on strategy. 

The first diagram lasted twenty minutes, the second one twice as long. Fred was lost somewhere between the second and third but George was holding out, only falling on Persephone’s shoulder, like, four times. She was sat up on one of the cubby, allowing for a similar height between the two. 

“Alright,” Wood finally said, putting his wand down and effectively waking Freddie up, “Are we clear? Any questions?”

"Just one,” George said, “Was it not possible to have told us this yesterday when we were awake?” 

“Any other questions?” Oliver looked around expectantly before nodding, “Alright, then, listen here. We should have won the Quidditch cup last year. We’re without a doubt the very best team out here and had it not been for, uh, unforeseen events completely out of our control—”

“Stopping Quirrel from trying to resurrect Voldemort back from the dead and then going into a mini-coma, go ahead,” Persephone said and then realized what she said. She was definitely not sleepy anymore. Everyone stared at her while Fred snorted. 

She pursed her lips, and looked at Wood, who was staring at her with a grimace, “Right, well, this year, we train harder than ever before…Okay, let's go and put our new theories into practice!" Wood shouted, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the locker rooms.

Barely able to keep their eyes open, his team followed.

It was just dawn now, the sun coloring the sky a beautiful blend of orange, red and yellow. As she walked out into the field, she spotted her friends out in the stands. She raised a hand to wave at Hermione and Ron, squinting at who the third person could be before she realized—

“HI LILY!” Colin Creevey screamed. “Ron just explained Quidditch to me! Is it true that you’re the youngest seeker in a hundred years!?”

Persephone’s mouth had popped open in confusion and she looked over to Ron, who was rubbing his eyes with one hand and Hermione raised a weak hand. She couldn’t imagine how long Collin had been talking their ears off. 

She climbed onto her broom and, as easy as it was to breathe, she flew up into the sky. She soared higher and higher and for the first time, she felt something lift in her. She felt like herself, more than she had in some days. It felt freeing.

Without meaning to, she started racing the twins. Before they could come around the corner the third lap, Fred peered down, slowing, and asking, “Who’s the kid?”

She looked over, already betting she knew who he spoke of, and sighed when she saw Colin with his camera raised, taking picture after picture.

"Look this way, Lily! This way!" he cried shrilly.

"Ah, the head of your fan club is it?” George teased, coming by them. “How does one join?”

“Shut it, George,” She shoved at him but he flew away in time, grinning. She was fighting a smile. And then--

_ Perhaps this boy will be willing. _

She bit her lip—would George willingly do anything she asked? Without asking questions? She would need to be very smart about how to involve him. Gary was young and naïve but George was efficient. She could make it seem like a prank of some sort, but then Fred might get involved. 

_ What a grave prank it would be. _

She breathed a laugh, looking over to the ground and freezing. Then she called over to Oliver, who came up to fly by the twins, “Who is that? Why is he taking pictures? Is he a Slytherin spy?”

“No, he isn’t,” George laughed but Persephone’s face had fallen. 

She pointed down, “The Slytherins don’t need a spy. They’re here in person.”

Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks in their hands. She glanced to Wood, who turned red as his robes in anger, “I can’t believe this! How did they know we’d be here?! I booked the field for today! FLINT!”

Without another word, he shot to the ground, landing harder than he meant to. Persephone exchanged a look with the twins. Fred asked as they followed Oliver, “I booked the field today, Flint.”

On the ground, Persephone knew the answer to his question. 

Marcus Flint was tall and unnaturally muscular, in a way that suggested to Persephone that it wasn’t completely out of question that he was taking a special potion or two. His teeth were greatly uneven, and Persephone thought that if it were possible for her to grow a tail under the right moon phase, it was possible he was part troll; he was so ugly. It made her gag knowing that he would be her housemate soon. 

Of the tall boys, she caught one’s eyes and her mouth fell open.  _ Damn...I’m going to kill him _ . 

His team was made up of boys, all built similarly; tall and broad shouldered, all with an air of confidence that ticked Persephone off. One in particular pissed her off in a special manner—tall, dark-haired Clark Kent prodigy, of course. 

She grounded herself with the thought of her becoming the Slytherin’s captain by her third year as Marcus opened his ugly mouth:

“No need to be a drama queen about it, Wood,” He raised his hands in a manner that was supposed to parallel that of a white flag but the smirk he wore cancelled the action out. 

Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.

"I. Booked. The. Field,” Wood nearly shook with anger. When it came to interfering with winning the Quidditch Cup, he was truly a man made of hellfire. 

“Well, I suppose you haven’t heard the news then, hm?” He whipped a piece of rolled up parchment out of his pocket and unrolled it dramatically, “Here I have a note, signed from Professor Snape, stating we have permission today to claim the Quidditch field to train our new Seeker for as long as we want.”

"New Seeker?” Wood was immediately distracted by this bit of information, “Since when?”

“Since now.” 

Persephone had been too busy glaring at Hades—stupid, tall Hades—down that she had not noticed amongst their tall ranks was a smaller, thinner boy. The second she saw the blonde hair she was immediately enraged. 

“You’re  _ kidding _ ,” She looked to the sky. First he intrudes into her dance life then her Quidditch life?! Was the world so cold? So unfair? “Merlin’s beard, the universe knows no bounds to its cruelty does it?”

“Amen sister,” Angelina Johnson nodded, crossing her arms. Despite being several years older, even the girls knew who Draco was. It was hard not to. 

“As a matter of fact, I’m not kidding,” Draco smirked, “You’ll be surprised to find how much I’m not one to kid when I tell you what it is my father has done.”

“Lied to the government?” George answered. 

“Been a Death Eater?” Fred suggested cheerfully.

She crossed her arms, “Killed people?” she suggested. 

Hades snickered, “Is there a choice for all of the above?”

Draco had gone red with anger as Freddie laughed, “Ah, how fair it is to be enemies, old friend!”

“I call it friendly competition,” Hades snorted. 

She turned her glare to him, “Yesterday, you claimed to prefer lighting yourself on fire than get on a broom so please, where exactly is the competition?”

“Here,” Marcus said, and all of the boys held out their brooms, save for Hades who shifted uncomfortably under her eyes. 

Her anger ran cold. Not because it burned out but because it ran so hot that she felt her nerves numb out. 

All seven of them, she now saw, were holding polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One. She hated herself for thinking they were absolutely breathtaking. 

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps"—he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives—"sweeps the board with them."

For a long moment, none of the Gryffindor team said anything. Finally, Persephone cackled. Like, actually cackled. Fred and George jumped at the sudden noise. 

“Your Daddy bought your place on the team?” She laughed manically. None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits.

“What’s going on?” Another voice asked. Hermione and Ron had crossed the grass to come see what had been going on, even though it was probably obvious. Slytherins and Gryffindors were standing opposite to each other, how could it not be obvious? 

Ron had asked Persephone the question but Malfoy was the one who answered, “Your filthy half-breed girlfriend seems to be in the first stage of grief. Grieving the Gryffindor team’s chances of winning the house cup, that is.”

She was laughing hysterically now, bent over, leaning her hands on her knees. Hades took a cautious step towards her, the little heart tracker beeping frantically in his hand. Even though it was probably not likely, Hades was concerned for her heart beat going so fast. 

“And—and you!” She gasped for air, still laughing. Her sides were burning now. “You! My god, you’ve really become everyone’s bitch, haven’t you!?” He froze in his next step and stared at her in shock. “I mean—First Lucius Malfoy’s, now Marcus Flint’s!? No doubt he found out that you’re stalking me and an idea popped up in that tiny snitch sized brain of his—you know all practice times. How convenient, don’t you think?”

“Pers—”

“No!” She cut him off. “You lied! You said you’d rather light yourself on fire than get on a broom! You’re a liar is what you are, not a Quidditch player.”

Oliver’s face contorted in disgust, “He said wh—”

“What a phenomenal actor you are! Truly, you would have had my respect for this believable performance. I mean, you had me convinced! Coming here as a damaged, broody nobody only to come out as the nephew of Lucius Malfoy, so quick to embrace your family name. What, carrying on a legacy are we?”

For a long moment, he stared at her. Emotion drained out of his eyes and then his face as he straightened. Everyone around them was holding their breath, eyes wide, waiting to see what would happen next. 

What happened next surprised her. He reached his hand out, “We need to talk.” His voice was carefully controlled and professional. 

“Talk about what? That you lied?” She crossed her arms. 

His voice was now tighter, “I never lied, Persephone, please—” 

“Omitted the truth, then.” She sneered, and for a moment, she forgot everyone around her. Her eyes were zoned on him and her focus was on tearing him apart as thoroughly as she could. “What else then,  _ Ben _ ? Next you’ll tell me that the search for your father is nothing but a hoax to convince me that you don’t know the truth, that you haven’t always known the truth.”

“Stop. Talking.” His voice was dangerous.

“Now, now, a lover’s quarrel is never not entertaining to watch and I’m sure your boyfriend will grovel but—” Marcus started but she cut him off sharply. 

“Boyfriend? How could I ever fancy pureblood trash son of a Death eater? Bellatrix Lestrange is your mother, isn’t she?” She raised a brow mockingly. “The most loyal Death Eater…loyal enough even to, say, carry Voldemort’s offspring?”

He was staring her down now and she knew he was calculating something in his mind. She knew him too well. Or maybe she didn’t know him that well. Maybe she had no idea who he really was.

“And your family legacy? I suppose murder and torture is in your future, is it?”

Without warning, he shot a quick hex at her without the use of words. Just as quickly, as everyone registered the need to jump away, she simply took a step forward and deflected the hex with her wand, needing no incantation herself. 

Hermione, sensing what was about to happen, stepped forward, “Persephone, you shouldn’t—”

“Flipendo!” She whispered harshly and Hades was knocked back several meters. He landed harshly on his back, rolling once so he was on his knees. Wildly, he looked up to meet her eye. 

For a moment, shock rolled through her body and she blinked. For a moment, she felt color sting her eyes and everything became confusing. Had she just…?

Without taking her eyes of his, she took a step forward—ready to apologize, ready to help him up, ready for something, she didn’t know what—but the Slytherin boys, the bigger, older, stronger, cruel Slytherin boys, all made a wide arc for her, not daring to be within four feet of her. 

Surprised, she glanced at them, and then back at Hades. 

“Lily?” Hermione’s small voice reached her, breaking her out of whatever trance she was in. Registering that they were scared of her—scared! Of  _ her _ !—she turned on her heel and walked away. 

She hadn’t realized she had a destination until she ended up at Hagrid’s Hut. She didn’t want to go in; she could barely bring herself to raise her hand to knock. 

She loosened her hair from the braids, working carefully as to not tangle any strands. She was in no mood to be trying to comb out knots. She’d rather cut all her hair off. She could grow it back in less than five seconds anyway. 

Without realizing it, she had frozen, listening quietly to the sound she was unfamiliar with. Then she convinced herself it was a dog panting and someone whispering excitedly to said dog. She had to guess it was Fang with Hagrid but when she peeked behind the hut, she found someone else. 

Gary Weasley was said to be very loud according to his brothers. Energetic, hyper and loud. She couldn’t tell about the latter adjective to describe him—or any of those adjectives, being as he was the way he was around her—but here, in this moment she could agree with them. 

The younger boy was covered in mud, his face nearly unrecognizable and his red hair sticking up everywhere. He was edging the dog on excitedly, moving from side to side as Fang followed his movements just as excited and lively. She watched with interest. He was a different person in this moment. 

The large dog barked as Gary took off running away from Persephone, laughing as Fangs chased after him playfully. He came to a half-circle, running back towards the hut now, and then he spotted Persephone. 

She must have startled him, for he tried stopping in his tracks but the ground was fresh with slippery mud from the night before that it was impossible for him to stop with the traction he had picked up. It didn’t help that Fang ran right at him, knocking through his legs. The young Gryffindor slid forward, his arms flailing as he fell backwards into the mud, landing on his side and then his face, for his arm had given out.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Persephone had no doubt he was wishing to be suffocated by the ground, maybe even hoping to be swallowed whole by the Mother Earth. She didn’t blame him, and she didn’t blame him for his reaction to her. She was a siren, scary. The grass slick with water and air thick with fog no doubt didn’t help. 

She didn’t really want to get her robes dirty, but when else has fate played right into her hands as nicely as it had in this moment? She was alone with Gary, alone with a boy half in love with her already. How hard could it be for her to complete the process? Besides, she had spells for dirt. She didn’t have a spell to convince someone to do her bidding. 

At least, not one Tom had taught her yet.

Rolling her shoulders back and tossing her thick hair over one side, she walked over to Gary, who was now on his hands and sitting up on his knees. She offered him her hand and when he stared up at her, she smiled. 

Without waiting for his response, she leaned down and took both arms by the wrists and pulled him up. He followed dumbly and without fight, and only openly stared at her. She had no doubt she had this affect when her hair was down—something about the siren gene, she was sure. 

Trying her best not to focus on him now scrabbling to spit the mud out of his mouth, she turned to survey their environment. They were standing in Hagrid’s small vegetable patch behind the hut, surrounded by the largest pumpkins Persephone had ever seen. The biggest one was the size of a large boulder and the smallest was still big enough to allow for her to sit on it comfortably. 

“Hagrid’s pumpkins are doing phenomenal this year, wouldn’t you say?” She said, looking over at Gary, who was now able to see without mud in his eyes. “Much bigger than last year’s, though you wouldn’t really know about last year’s, would you?” She smiled.

He was sputtering and she hummed, raising her hand before closing her eyes. Slowly at first, then quickly, the mud rolled off Gary’s face and then dropped from his body completely. She opened her eyes and his mouth was now hanging open. 

She cleared her throat, “I’m sure this did marvels to your skin. It’s not too different than a mud mask, I’d say. Doesn’t get any more DIY than that, I’d wager.”

“D.I.Y.?” He asked, his voice almost a wheeze. 

She threw her hand up in a manner that meant to say, ‘oh of course!’. “Do it yourself. I forget how disconnected wizards are from the muggle community…”

She crossed her arms, trying to ignore the awkward silence, before commenting once more on the pumpkins, because obviously, pumpkins were the most important part of this conversation, “I think he may have put an Engorgement Charm on them…” When she realized what that implied Hagrid was doing (using a wand), she saved it quickly by saying, “I don’t think magic really leaves anyone, do you?”

She didn’t really recognize this as her own thought but she believed it. Magic doesn’t leave a person. So what if they don’t have a wand? What did wands have to do with anything?

In truth, Hagrid had probably rebuilt his wand in the form of a flowery pink umbrella after he’d been expelled for gods knew what. She never got a clear answer from him. She didn’t blame him nonetheless. She’d have done the same should her wand have been broken. Though she would have probably destroyed anyone for thinking they had the right to do such a thing to her wand. 

“So…where’s Hagrid?” She asked, turning expectantly to Gary. 

He flushed and shrugged, his throat thick as he spoke, “I think he said Dumbledore wanted to talk to him.”

She fought back the anger that built in her at the mention of their headmaster. She couldn’t keep herself from locking her jaw and her mind was engulfed in her task at hand. 

“Wanna go for a walk?” She offered. 

He looked confused for a second, pointing at her person, “Aren’t you in Quidditch practice now?”

“Break time,” She didn’t miss a beat as she smiled. “Come on! It’ll be fun!”

She didn’t glance back to check if he followed her—who wouldn’t follow her when she offered? “How are you liking Hogwarts?”

“Oh, um, it’s—wait,” He stopped. She finally looked back. He had stopped walking and she raised a brow. “We can’t go into the Forbidden Forest—it’s forbidden!”

She snickered, “So?”

“What if we get caught?” He asked. “I mean, you’re already in trouble because of the car thing…won’t you get expelled?”

She stared at him for a moment as her smile slowly flew, and she cocked her head to the side, letting her hair fall over her shoulder, “The car thing being that I lied to my head of house and our headmaster and said that the illegal car that belongs to your father actually belongs to me so I can save your father from being arrested and save his job? Is that what you mean by the car thing, Gary?”

A bit of the stretch of the truth but it did the trick. He looked guiltily towards the castle, flushing red before coming along. She smiled once more and whistled a slow tune as they ventured closer to the edge of the forest. 

“You were telling me about how you’re liking school?” She engaged, “Who’re your teachers?”

He listed off the familiar names; to some she congratulated him, to others she grimaced at. There was one name that came up that they disagreed on. 

“…my brothers were right about him, he hates me.” Gary frowned. He seemed truly offended that the Potions teacher didn’t like him. From what he had just told her, it seemed Snape was carrying on his legacy of hating on Gryffindors, and saving a special place in his heart for the Weasley boys. 

“He’s complicated, I think,” She said, navigating over an overgrown tree stump. 

Gary snorted, “That’s a nice way of putting it.” Then he covered his mouth, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say that!”

She had laughed, “No, don’t worry about it!” They were now deeper in the forest, truly alone. The trees were thicker here, and more dense. Wildlife was more frequent and she could hear them skittering around them, up in the trees. 

Gary did not find the same beauty in the scene as she did. He asked nervously, “You know how to get out of here right?”

She only smiled, “Duh.” She turned to face him now, raising her leg above her to hook the back of her ankle over the lower tree branch and pull herself up. “You make any friends yet?” She idly thought of sending Selena—Luna—Lovegood Gary’s way. What a nice duo they would make. 

He shifted nervously, shrugging, “My roommates are nice.”

“Roommates are roommates,” She rolled her eyes. While she and her roommates were close—they got undressed in front of each other, accidently walked in on each naked, done each other’s hair, gossiped about who liked who, and all those idiotic things that roommates did—they weren’t the type to hang out if they weren’t roommates. 

“You and Hermione are roommates,” He said with a note that made her think he was going somewhere with it. 

“That’s different,” She said, leaning up against the trunk of the tree. “But haven’t you met someone you like?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know…things are so much different than what Fred and George say…”

She raised her brows and gestured for him to continue talking. He sighed, plopping down on a fallen tree’s trunk. He brought his arms up to rest on his knees and his chin rested in his hands. 

“Bill was a prefect and head boy. Then Charlie went and did both those things  _ and _ became captain of the Quidditch team. Percy became the smartest in his year and now is a prefect. Fred and George are the funniest people and are on the house team. Ron...well, Ron has you.” He looked off, looking downright miserable. “I don’t have any of those things. I mean, I thought coming to Hogwarts was going to be great. I would get to be with my brothers and I would learn magic but…I just feel so…out of place. I’m not as smart, I’m not funny and I’m not old enough to join the Quidditch team yet, not like I’ll get on either way.”

For a moment, she felt bad for him. 

The poor boy, he was lonely. He had expectations and they had only ended up with disappointment. She understood the feeling very well. She wanted nothing more than to assure him that it was normal to feel this way because he was young, younger than she was. He would come into himself soon and become more comfortable with who he was. She wasn’t older by much but she was still older. 

And then, she tried her best not to laugh. How pathetic of him. So dramatic. 

“Well, you can count on this—I’m your friend.”

“No, you just feel bad for me because I’m your best friend’s little brother.” He said with a severe tone of self-deprecation. 

She crossed her arms, leaning farther out, so she was nearly above him, “I am your friend. We  _ are _ friends, Gary. You know what friend’s do?” She smiled brilliantly, “Let each other borrow their books. They spend summers together, eat dinner together, laugh at Percy together.”

He finally laughed, almost giggled, and nodded, “Okay.”

She never let the smile fall, “We are friends Gary, and friends do each other favors…no questions asked, in my own opinion.”

“Really?” He raised his brows. She could sense that she was waking up his sense of need—he wanted now to keep this ‘friendship’ and he would do anything to do it. “Like what kind of favors?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, “Oh, I don’t know, say if I were to…tell you to steal Neville Longbottom’s toad, you’d do it without asking questions.”

He laughed at this, really laughed and then exhaled, “Yeah right.”

“Wait, that’s a good idea!” She straightened, “You should steal Neville’s toad for me, no questions asked.”

He stared up at her for a moment, confusion written on his face as he realized she wasn’t joking anymore, “Wh—what? Why?”

“No questions asked, Gary,” She reminded him. She shifted so both her legs were over one side of the branch, “Do it for me, Gary, so I know you’re my friend.”

“I…I don’t know, I mean, that’s sort of…” He shrugged, trying not to offend her, “Mean, isn’t it?”

She clasped her hands together and took a deep breath, “Listen, Gary, ever since…ever since I came to Hogwarts I’ve felt the way you’ve felt. I felt…out of place.”

“What!” He cried in shock, “How? I mean—I mean you’re Persephone Potter! You’re the Girl Who Lived!”

“And for a lot of people, that’s all I’m known for. I beat the Dark Lord…but they don’t look much passed that. It’s hard for me to make friends because, well, I don’t know if they want to be friends for  _ me _ or for my fame.”

“Oh…” He faltered, understanding.

She jumped down, “I want to be your friend, Gary, but I won’t be your friend if you are just here because I’m famous.”

She turned to walk away and—there it was. From fear of losing her proposal of friendship or from fear of being threatened to be left behind in the Forbidden Forest with no way out, he gave her a piece of his soul, all by breaking a moral code. How…easy. “No wait!”

She stopped and fought hard to keep her smirk hidden, “Yes?”

“I’ll do it.”

She turned fully and she smiled what she deemed a grateful and honest smile, “Thank you, Gary, but I can’t believe you’re my friend until you do me this favor…” She stared him hard in the eye with a stare she knew would hypnotise him. No wonder people did as she wanted—her siren gene was much more prominent than she’d once given credit for. That would explain Draco Malfoy answering her questions about his cousin last year. 

A taste of bile entered her mouth as she thought of him, but she kept her face erectly composed, “I wouldn’t don’t worry too much about it. Neville loses his toad so often he won’t ever suspect a thing.”

And neither will Gary. 

Italy had opened her eyes to a lot of different things; 

It made her realize how big the world really was. Not just the muggle world but the magical world. There was magic she had never dreamed could exist. In places so close to the ocean, she felt it take her senses over like a wave overtaking her. But she was a siren—no wave could overtake her. 

She was a witch—no magic could overtake her either. 

Italy also opened her eyes to different fashion. She hadn’t shopped a lot, not like Diana had. (And Diana was an expert at navigating between good quality and expensive quality). She had found little pieces she adored and she could be able to incorporate into her out of school wardrobe. 

This was the first time she was able to do just that. 

She’d acquired this very nice, fitted dress in a robe shop. It fit her snug until her waist and then it flared out with lots of material for a skirt, up until above her knees. It had a shapely bodice, very flattering scoop neck with straps as thick as her two fingers. It was a deep scarlet color, which sort of clashed with her own red hair but looked fantastic with her eyes. She looked terrible as a redhead…

She ignored that thought and instead focused on makeup—a tad bit of shimmer to her cheekbones and the tip of her nose, a teaspoon of mascara on her generously long lashes and a mix of a red and a purple on her lips made her noticeably prettier than usual. When it came to her hair…

Curly as it usually was, it fell in ringlets from her shower. She brushed them out, allowing for them to turn into more voluptuous curls but still…it was the color that was bothering her. It felt…wrong, almost. Like it didn’t fit her. The length was fine; she loved her long hair dearly. It was a nice consequence of her rebellion against her aunt to keep her hair so long. She never really thought about cutting her hair because she could always use her powers to do what she pleased…but now?

She’d never really made big changes to her appearance—she’d once paraded herself into the Slytherin common room as Pansy Parkinson—because she was very happy with how she looked. She didn’t think herself self-centered but she never really took too much thought to how she looked. She either looked like she’d rolled out of bed or she looked normal. And she knew she was pretty, only because her mother was gorgeous and father was handsome (and she looked exactly like her mum) and she had the siren gene. 

But now she wanted a change and she had more than just enough means to achieve it. She was a metamorphmagus. It would take little to no effort to do whatever she wanted to her appearance, but she didn’t know exactly what it was she wanted. 

Instead of impulsively changing her hair color, she instead slid on her shoes (simple but gorgeous little heels, barely anything above three inches with a thick strap at the ankle and a close, softened pointed toe) and tossed an outer robe on, the same one from the funeral. With her wand tucked safely into a hidden pocket, she exited the bathroom and bid her roommates goodbye, but was followed shortly by Hermione. 

“I don’t think this is such a good idea,” Hermione said, crossing her arms anxiously as she followed Persephone down the long flight of stairs that the Gryffindor students were curded with. You forget your textbook? Need to change for flying lessons? You’re screwed over by a long and tall flight of stairs that you have to climb twice. She tried to be positive—she’ll build up great cardio because of it. Especially in heels. “I mean, you’ve got detention tonight at nine, so you can’t go anyway. What happens if someone notices that you aren’t there?”

“If by someone, you mean Lockhart, then I’m confident to tell you that he won’t pull himself from his own reflection long enough to notice,” She grinned. 

“Lily,” Hermione said in all seriousness.

“What’s the worst that’ll happen?” Persephone asked, perfectly at ease as she waved her arms. “Daphne’s my friend.”

“Pansy?” 

Persephone nodded at her valid point, “A good point but I can tolerate her. Besides, she wouldn’t want to mess up her hair and neither would I,” She said, her freshly straight hair whisking around behind her. 

Hermione let out a short laugh, “And Draco?”

“Draco wouldn’t hit a girl who could hit him back,” She threw a smile over her shoulder. 

“I guess he wouldn’t try anything after what happened today…” Hermione trailed off, obviously unsure of where to take the topic. They hadn’t spoken of that morning and Persephone liked it that way. 

She’d hate it if Hermione ruined that. 

“So why…” She started and Persephone closed her eyes. “What  _ happened _ ? I mean, you and Black are barely ever not seen in the same room. He follows you everywhere, I mean, you’ve sat at each other’s house tables. I thought…”

‘I did too,’ she thought to herself. 

_ Concentrate, Persephone. We’ve a goal to achieve tonight. _

Tom was right, as always. 

“Well, don’t think, because whatever it is, it…isn’t.” She said curtly. “Don’t worry. Fred and George will be there so I’ll be fine.”

She smiled at Hermione as she blew her a kiss and a swift wave before she nodded at the twins, who were waiting for her. George bowed dramatically, “Milady.”

“Pathetic,” She raised a brow, trying hard not to laugh. “Truly.” 

He grinned nonetheless.

“Alright, Lils,” Fred said, skipping forward so he was in front of Persephone, walking backwards so he could face her. “What’s the plan?”

The plan was rather simple in her thought process but less than simple in playing it out. In her thought process, she had forgotten how annoying Lockhart was. 

When they stopped in front of a door on the second-floor corridor, she borrowed George’s outer robe—and obvious hand-me-down in green—to hide her dressed up appearance. She clenched her jaw before she knocked. 

As if Lockhart was waiting on the other side of the door, he opened the door at once. Lockhart was beaming at the three of them. 

“Ah, there she is!” he nodded at the twins, “How charming! You’ve got two bodyguards! I believe we have already had this conversation, my dear, but please, do come in! Should I assume that you two will be waiting by the door?” He was chuckling to himself as he closed the door in the twins face. 

She had promised them she’d be out in two minutes and she was intending to keep that promise.

She was sidetracked, however, when she saw how many framed photographs of himself were on the walls, and then she wasted even more time trying to swallow her laughter at the sight of seeing some photographs had been signed. 

She had told the twins that she had brewed a good portion of Draught of Sleep but she had lied. While she was a skilled potioneer, she could not change the amount of time needed to make a potion. She hadn’t the time to wait for a potion to simmer. 

From what Persephone had learned in her brief study sessions with Hades in sirens, she learned that a siren could do much more than was known to an average person. For one, their tears could be used to make an advanced healing potion. For another, their voices had more than the famously known use of luring sailors to their deaths. Actually, their voices were a big part of their powers; whistling, screaming, wailing and singing all had their different effects. 

Singing put a person under the siren’s charm, but screaming had about the same effects of a banshee scream—it killed the person if they were close enough. Wailing, with pain, grief or anger, poisoned those around who heard it with headaches, fainting and an eventual, slower death. Whistling could stun a person at a high frequency and put them to sleep at a low frequency. 

Coincidentally enough, she had been blessed with the ability to whistle. 

Unsurprisingly enough, it took less than fifteen seconds to have him collapse at his desk. His last words were something like, “Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that—” before his head fell against his big stack of fan mail. 

She checked his pulse and, upon finding him alive, she snuck right out of the classroom as quickly as she had gone in and tossed George’s robe back at him. Fred clicked a button on his watch while they both looked amazed. 

“Less than a minute and thirty seconds!” Fred exclaimed. 

She shrugged nonchalantly, “I would have been quicker but I got distracted.”

“Aw, by his pretty face?” George made a face while she grimaced, “You’ve got some sense to look beyond a pretty face, at least.”

She snorted, “Right.”

They walked deep under the school, passed the potions classroom, turning from passageway to passageway. All three of them had the map fresh in their minds, either from having memorized it or having checked it profusely. Persephone also had a voice in her head telling her where to go, but she wasn’t going to admit that.

They came across two tall boys leaning up against a stretch of damp, stone wall—she recognized them as fourth years, a Jack Bertrude and Masen McCallister. Both purebloods, both dressed in immaculate green robes, both straightening when they spotted Persephone. 

“Ms. Potter,” Jack started when Masen also spoke. 

“Lily, right?”

She raised a brow and went to hand them the invitations that Daphne had passed along to her but Jack raised his hand, “Oh, no, come on now, you don’t think we need that, do you? We know who you are.”

The way they both smiled at her was familiar—and annoying—but she smiled gratefully either way. Fred snorted behind her and Jack turned his gaze to Fred, “You got invitations mate?”

When they were let into the Slytherin common room entrance way, Fred whistled, “Being a celebrity has perks, huh.”

She gave him a look, “Quiet or you’ll summon Lockhart, conscious or not!”

“Right, the man has ‘Persephone Potter is famous’ spidey senses, does he?” George chortled. 

She rolled her eyes, “You have no idea.”

The Slytherin common room had not changed since she had last paid it a visit. It was a very large, long room with tall windows peeking into the Great Lake. It was furnished with expensive dark green and black, low backed button-tufted, leather sofas grouped around short coffee tables. There were thick columns here and there, giving the illusion that it wasn’t supported by magic. The room was lit by lamps with a green tint with the added light from a large, ornately carved fireplace. Chandeliers hung here and there, and the dark cupboards held books and skulls, as gothic as that sounded. There were tapestries hung on the walls depicting different medieval Slytherin wizards and witches, most of which she recognized—two of the more obvious celebrities were Merlin and Salazar Slytherin himself. 

She paused to examine the painting of the House founder and giggled to herself, earning a strange look from George but she shook her head. She didn’t let her robe be taken, instead folding it neatly over one arm. She didn’t expect she would stay long either way. 

People cast the trio looks—no, they cast looks at  _ her _ . For the most part, she was used to people staring at her but not like this. They looked afraid, like something was about to happen but whatever it was, she hadn’t gotten the memo. They were making way for her.

But then, “Lily!” 

Persephone recognized the voice immediately. She traced back to, wow,  _ Daphne _ , Daphne who looked stunning. Like, actually so beautiful. Her golden hair was pulled back in a long ponytail and her face was already shiny with sweat, but sweat clung to her as if she was wearing a really good highlight. She had just a tiny bit of makeup on, her lips noticeably darker and her eyelids sparkled under the low light. It made her eyes appear deep and mysterious and suddenly Persephone couldn’t stop thinking of her first kiss,  _ their _ first kiss. 

“I’m so happy to see you!” She gushed, throwing an arm around her like they’d been separated many, many years. She smelled heavenly. Persephone would have considered it an awkward hug because she only hugged her with one arm, but then again, Daphne was never awkward. On her other hand, Daphne had her hand around Pansy’s wrist, obviously having dragged Parkinson along. 

To her surprise, Pansy leaned in for a formal witch greeting of a kiss on each cheek, which Persephone returned, despite being taken off guard. She was sure Pansy would rather pull her hair out than touch Persephone, so she should have been immediately suspicious as to this sudden change of behavior but she was distracted. Daphne was smiling so brilliantly, how could she not be?

“Let’s get drinks,” Daphne took Persephone’s hand to maneuver through the crowds, which had gotten louder once more. 

Fred and George dispersed, promising to find her later so they could walk back to the dorms. She highly doubted that, being as they were hard partiers, but shouted her confirmation over her shoulder as Daphne dragged her off. 

She’d always assumed that Gryffindors were the house that threw the craziest parties. Her house’s parties were…chaotic. She’d watched couples breakup and she’d walked in on girls crying in the bathroom and she’d had those girls braid her hair while sobbing, drunk, (and those same girls smiled at her in the common room and halls). People got damn near killed with alcohol there and Persephone had heard of a pregnancy that occurred in one of the upperclassmen dorms but no evidence came up to support this rumor. 

Everyone knew everyone in the Gryffindor common room parties or acted like it, singing and dancing together. There was always loud blaring music and food and underage drinking and crazy dancing and overall it was a chaotic time. She’d only ever seen her own house’s parties and only ever heard things about the other houses, but nothing prepared her for what she walked into. 

She’d always had a strange impression that Slytherins were some of the classier partiers. Like, drink soda from crystal wine glasses and have light music playing, sort of classy. 

This was obviously not the case and she was so ashamed to have ever thought this, because they had walked in on people taking shots. And not just one of two but ten in a row. The smallest girl punched the last one down with an elegance that made her look professional while the largest guy, one of the Quidditch players. As he finished his last shot, he sputtered and then fell backwards, his huge body falling on a crowd of people, few who caught him. 

“Woah,” Persephone breathed, but Daphne only snorted. 

“Idiots,” Daphne rolled her eyes. Persephone narrowed her eyes at the remaining students who had taken the shots, watching them sway and turn paler. “Who would willingly drink poison?”

“Poison?” Persephone’s eyes widened and her mind flashed with antidotes recipes. They were already in the dungeon and she could send someone to fetch it—or she could use the spell that appeared in her mind at that moment (Accio wouldn’t be too complicated in urgent moments, right?) to have it come to her. 

“People who want to have fun, that’s who,” Pansy countered the blonde, who only grimaced at the thought. 

“Should—shouldn’t we do something?” Persephone sputtered, staring on at the now laughing teenagers. She watched with a cold feeling as a boy stumbled. 

“Aren’t Gryffindors supposed to be fun at parties?” Pansy muttered to Tracey, another girl in their year. “Or is it just the half-breeds.”

Tracey, a girl of average height and lovely grey eyes, choked on her drink.

Persephone was frozen in fascination once the shock melted away, watching as the colors of the teens paled, their pupils dilating to an unhealthy size before their skin flushed and they were laughing once more. 

She didn’t realize Daphne had said something until she snapped back into reality, seeing Daphne staring at her expectantly, holding a drink out. On instinct, she took the drink and took a generous sip, not realizing how dehydrated she was. Well, technically, being as she was a siren, she was always dehydrated when not in water, but whatever. No one cared for technicalities. 

“Oh—!” Daphne gasped while Tracey burst into laughter. 

“Damn, she actually did it,” Blaise Zabini said from the other side of the table. He was standing, chewing on blacklicorice. “Well, give the girl the antidote. She’s so tiny, she’ll drop any moment now!”

“Excuse me what?” She raised a brow, but felt she already had the answer, “Oh my gods, did you just give me poison? DAPHNE!”

Daphne raised her hands in a means of surrender, “I told you what it was! I didn’t think you would drink it! It’s not my fault!”

“Here,” Blaise said, nodding to his extended hand. “The antidote. I’d rather not be responsible for taking out the Girl Who Lived.”

He was laughing, however, so she thought he wouldn’t mind it. She took the thick, cool cream-colored licorice and took a bite. It was sour, at first, before melting on her tongue. She nearly sputtered in surprise—she was expecting the familiar sweet taste of candy, not the bitter taste of lemon and mint. 

He chuckled at her face, raising a cup to his lip and taking a careful sip, though she could tell it wasn’t poison, for he didn’t react physically. Or maybe he was used to drinking poison. 

She took another bite when Pansy whined loudly about her feet hurting from her heels. With swing playing on the gramophone and people standing and talking to each other, holding glasses, it really felt like a casual party. It was nowhere near as chaotic as any Gryffindor parties, but not boring either. She had come for Daphne but she’d ended up with Daphne’s group of friends, which consisted of Blaise, Tracey, Pansy, Daphne and, unfortunately, Draco. Technically, Draco was already sitting in the group of armchairs they headed for, so really, he wasn’t, but he was. 

She wanted nothing more than to sit as far away from him as possible but when she reached an armchair, Tracey slipped in casually, as if she hadn’t seen Persephone about to sit. When she turned, all the other seats were taken other than one by the fireplace, one across from Draco.

“Oh, here’s a free seat, Lils,” Daphne said, pointing to the seat. 

Clenching her jaw, she stepped over peoples legs to go take a seat, preparing to angle herself away from the blond git. 

Maybe it was the poison taking affect—or maybe it was that she ingested the poison and quickly took the antidote, so both effects were taking place inside her body too quickly—but she was feeling lightheaded. She was glad to take a seat. 

The mood was happy and fun, with people moving around a lot to talk to different people and while there was no real dance floor, there were a few people grouped in the middle of the common room, a group of girls dancing with each other and then an obvious couple in each other’s arms. Like, very much in each other’s arms, with their tongues down each other’s throats.

“Let’s,” Pansy smirked, “play a game, shall we? I vote Secrets and Sins.”

“Ou, I second that!” Tracey leaned forward eagerly, casting Persephone a glance as she did. Persephone smiled at her, confused. “But no one’s allowed to back down and no one can refuse a sin. It’s so boring when  _ some _ ,” She cast a cold stare at Pansy, “Don’t want to get their nails dirty.”

“Oh, that was one time!” Pansy scoffed, “And you know how hard it is to get dirt out from under your nails when it’s up there!”

“Right, we all know what a pressing matter that is in our daily lives,” Draco snorted and Persephone bit back a laugh. She would rather be caught dead than laugh at something Draco Malfoy said. “Where’s Theo?”

With a quick scavenger, the group had grown to include several more people, several being upperclassmen. Now the majority were fourth years, including the twins who had emerged when the game was announced. 

“Alright, who’s first?” Felix Rosier asked the group. The group was bustling, whispering something and passing a paper around. She hadn’t noticed at first but then she saw people looking over at her and whispering, as if they were talking about her. She didn’t like the feeling, and she shifted uncomfortably. This only made them look more intensely and then write something down. 

“Malfoy, let’s see it.” 

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy reached over to spin a butterbeer bottle on the low coffee table. It spun several times rather wildly before slowing down and then finally coming to a stop in front of Tracey. 

“Secrets or sins?”

“Sins.”

“Hm, let’s see,” He was thinking, his pale eyebrows scrunched together before he smirked. “Alright, go knock on Snape’s door and run away.”

Tracey gasped, paling, “I’d rather pitch myself off the Astronomy tower!”

“No, no come on! Weren’t you just spouting all about how we can’t back down? You can’t back down, you hypocrite!” Persephone laughed. Persephone noticed some boys were coming closer, seeming more interested in Persephone than the game. She uncrossed her legs and crossed them the opposite way, trying her best to ignore them. 

“I don’t have a death wish!” She sneered, crossing her arms. Persephone found it comforting that Snape wasn’t all that nice to his own house’s students. Or, simply not as cruel to them as he was to everyone else. 

“Alright, new rules!” Rosier called out, “You refuse a sin, you have to kiss someone of the asker’s request. You refuse a secret, you take a drink. Malfoy, who’s she smooching?”

Tracey blushed a deep red and stood up, “Fine! I’ll do it!”

“No, you won’t, he’ll shut the party down,” Blaise said, pouring her a drink. “Just drink this and we can move along.”

“Is—”

He rolled his eyes, “It’s not poisoned, just drink. I’d like to ask a question.”

“Forty-five minutes and counting,” Persephon heard someone from behind mutter. She glanced over and saw people, a group of girls were whispering to each other, staring at Persephone. When she caught their eye, they didn’t look away in embarrassment at being caught staring but instead in disappointment. 

Blaise leaned over to spin the bottle, and by fate’s hand, it slowed down to land on Persephone. She groaned, looking over to Blaise with amusement, wondering what her task could possibly be. 

“Alright, Potter,” He grinned. “Secrets or sins?”

She pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes, “Secrets?”

The twins booed and she slapped their shoulders each, “Wait, okay, no, sins.”

“Oh come on! You can’t do that!” Pansy cried out with exasperation. 

“Alright, you do one of each!” Daphne said. 

Persephone raised her arms, “Well, now we’re just making up rules as we go but sure, fine.”

“Alright, question first, since you answered secrets first,” Malfoy wasted no time in getting to his point. “How’d you survive that night?”

Without having any conscious thought to, she leaned back, resting both arms on either of the armrests, and raised a brow to him, smirking. “Pass me a drink.”

She downed the poisoned alcohol as people oooohed all around her, feeling it burn down her throat in a very unpleasant manner. It took every bit of her willpower to keep herself from coughing it up, and to even keep her face composed. 

“And that’s an hour, dammit!” A seventh year boy threw down his cards, “Fifteen whole galleons!”

Persephone scrunched her face up in confusion. Was there a bet going on? 

“Seph,” Someone came up behind her chair, “Seph, hey! Hey, Seph…” 

Hades was standing by her, looking frantic and smiling nervously. She stared up at him in surprise before her face betrayed her irritation, “Yes?”

“Hey, I…I want to talk….to you.” He nodded. 

She raised a brow, “I don’t want to talk to you.”

She ignored the snickers and the kissy noises and glared up at him. Who did he think he was? Did he really think he could just pull her off whenever he felt like it? She wasn’t a puppet. 

“Likewise, but I really,  _ really _ need to speak with you, Persephone.”

“Aw come on, lovebirds, kiss and make-up already.”

“Hades,” Freddie said, standing, “Maybe we should go?”

“Freddie, she’s…” He gestured down with his head very aggressively, “In…the chair….”

Fred didn’t understand—neither did Persephone—but suddenly George shot up, “HEY MAYBE WE SHOULD GO KNOCK ON SNAPE’S DOOR NOW.”

Fred was looking confused while Persephone crossed her arms, but something about the look George gave Fred made him understand something that was a mystery to Persephone. He straightened, looking at her, “Yeah lets go for a walk.”

“Well, you lot enjoy your walk,” She frowned at them. 

“Persephone,” Hades suddenly said. People were now looking at them, some more interested than others. “Did you know we have direct access to the lake?”

She perked up, putting her arms on the arm rests, “You do!?” She didn’t mean to sound so excited but she didn’t remember a time when she didn’t get excited by large bodies of water. 

He nodded vigorously, “Yeah, let’s go check it out.”

She didn’t even care about him anymore, she wanted to go see the lake. She meant to get up, but instead she fell stone hard, leaning against the chair and resting her arms on the armrests once more, keeping a steely face. She had no control over her facial expression anymore, “Maybe later.”

_ Stay where you are. Do not back down. _

Tom’s voice echoed in her mind heavily, making her head feel heavy. 

As if panicking, he finally set to kneel by her and whisper, “Please, just trust me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because you’re sitting in his chair…” He whispered intensely. When she shook her head, meaning she didn’t know who this  _ he _ was, he leaned closer, “Voldermort’s. No one has sat it in properly in decades. Those who have haven’t needed a week in the hospital, and they never came back.”

And then she knew what the bet was. 

She turned to look at Daphne, who was now watching in more of a bitter tone than an amazed one. And she thought of how she reacted upon seeing her, a full 180 turn from the last time they’d seen each other. She had directed Persephone into this chair. 

A cold feeling washed over her when she realized everyone had chosen their seats carefully, and that Tracey was very quick in taking her original chair choice. Most of the common room had been watching her periodically and it was not because she was the Girl Who Lived. 

She turned to look back at Hades, “I don’t see his name on the cushion,” She said through gritted teeth. She sighed, “I guess I won’t be able to do my dare, hm?” 

She was staring right at Daphne as she said this before shrugging and taking Hades’ face between her hands. Without thinking of the consequences--or believing the consequences worthwhile, in her somewhat tipsy state--she pulled him into her, pressing her lips to his. In the back of her mind, she thought of how strange it was that his lips were very different from hers but that they fit rather nicely against each other’s.

When she pulled away, she had Hades staring dumbfounded right back at her, his pupils dilated and his lips parted. He didn’t look like he was breathing and for a moment, she thought he had gone into cardiac arrest with how fast his heart was beating under her hands. She straightened, and looked over to Daphne, and smiled very sweetly at her, “See you in Potions.”

She pulled Hades behind her, remembering the furious shock on Daphne’s face like the taste of a sweet foreign candy. She wanted to remember that look forever. As she dodged crowds—though, they parted for her—she felt the good feeling leave her body with every step. There would be rumors the next day for sure.

She wasn’t sure where she was going. She was just following her instinct, going up some stairs with the taller boy in tow, who was trying his best not to stumble behind her. She was hearing the sound of water and being as they were under the lake, she had a rough idea where she was being pulled to. 

She was right. She wasn’t sure what to expect other than water, but she certainly didn’t expect  _ this _ . It was a long and deep pool that glowed a clean green with a small waterfall near the end of it coming in from a rocky overhead. She was sure with some effort, someone could climb up. It was obviously lake water but it looked cleaner. She wanted to dip her feet in but already the more humid, damp atmosphere was making her skin sticky with sweat. If she put her feet in, there was no doubt the temptation would be far too powerful. 

She walked forward despite knowing this and stared at the water. It was calm and still, moving only gently with the consistent waterfall. She crossed her arms self-consciously, pursing her lips. 

She wasn’t sure what it was, but she was sure something bad was supposed to happen to her when she sat in that chair.

“What was wrong with the chair?” She asked, tilting her head back so she could let her hair fall back over her shoulders. 

“It…it was  _ his _ chair…” He said, his voice cracking once. She nodded to herself, already having had an idea of that being the answer.

“What was it supposed to do to me?” She whispered, finding no bravery in her to look at him. 

He was quiet, as if thinking of his words carefully, before saying, “I’m not really sure what it does.” When she looked at him, he wasn’t looking at her. He instead was staring up at the ceiling, as if in deep thought. “I mean, I can take a few guesses. I just don’t know where to draw the line between science and magic.”

“What’s the scientific explanation?” 

“Hyperarousal, definitely. There’s a theory that I read, about a person being able to pick up a lot of the environment subconsciously and the brain reacts to it, without the person knowing what its reacting to. People can feel things they can’t see, like gravity, or magic. I think that the human body can detect magic, even if the person is non-magical, just because we have a sort of sensitivity for things like that. You hear a sound in the middle of the night, you freeze, right? Sort of like that, but you don’t know why you freeze.”

She thought there was truth to what he was saying, despite him being in the very early stages of wrapping his own mind around this. He obviously had only just brushed on this subject, for his thoughts were that of a person brainstorming; messy and nearly incapable of understanding. 

“I think it’s the body sensing a threat, mostly. You feel it, the information is sent to the part of the brain that processes emotions which then sends distress calls to the command center of the brain, the one connected to the nervous system. It sort of presses an emergency call button that releases a lot of energy to allow the person to either flight or fight the perceived threat.”

“Adrenaline,” She muttered, now lost in thought. 

“Right,” He nodded. “Everything that follows is textbook—heart racing, lungs open wider, senses sharpen. You’re basically in survival mode.”

“And the magic?” She turned to look at him, “What’s the magical explanation? What was the threat?”

He pursed his lips, unable to break the staring. 

“I think magic is really complicated but really simple too. Magic…doesn’t really belong to a singular person, you know? It’s sort of something that…exists. We’re sensitive to it, I think, to be able to…make it adapt to us, to almost change. But its magic, all the same…” He exhaled deeply, seeming almost troubled. “The magic is always going to be magic, in whatever state it’s in. Touched or untouched…its magic. It’s molded according to a person’s personal usage of it…and if an especially powerful magical being were to touch it, the molding would take longer to relax into its regular, original state.”

He took a breath before continuing, “The magic left behind by…Voldemort, I think, was damaged. It was bent in ways magic should never be bent. You can see it in different places…wizards and witches and every magical being are able to leave some of themselves behind in the magic they touch.”

“Like portraits,” She whispered, suddenly understanding. 

He nodded, “And…the magic left behind on that chair…is hostile. It's dangerous because it was made to be dangerous by the user.”

“By Voldemort.”

“They say his footprint is greater than that of a painting. Any person who has sat there has never been the same. They’ve been changed in ways that science can’t really explain. People say that the weak willed are easily able to be manipulated by the magic, easy to give in to its effects. It makes them have the worst thoughts, it bites at their skin, burns them inside out, chokes them, stops their hearts, all within minutes. No person has been able to sit for more than a few minutes before they can’t breathe. I don’t remember the last time someone could sit there without needing to be hospitalized for a week or two.”

She clenched her jaw, carefully pressing her lips together that didn’t allow them to tremble. Daphne had allowed her to sit there. Daphne had let her sit there in front of her friends, in front of the entire Slytherin house, and waited out the minutes. She had let people bet on her, let people stare at her, let them gawk of the girl who lived. She wanted to cry, but what would that prove? 

She raised her hands, to stare at them. They glowed pale in this light, with reflections of the moving water displayed hazily on them. She closed her eyes, exhaling shakily, “Something…inside me has always been there….and now it's awake…I don’t know what it is, or what to do with it….and I’m afraid.”

“What are you afraid of?”

She felt her chest vibrate, almost trembling, as she tried her best not to cry, “Myself.” She looked at him without seeing him, “You should be too…there is an imbalance. I feel it. Something has happened …”

“ _ What _ is happening? You aren’t yourself, you…Persephone, this isn’t you. Today, this morning, that wasn’t you. Whatever is it, let me help you—” He reached out tentatively, as if afraid his hand would pass right through her. 

“If I’m not myself, then who am I?” she asked, shaking her head ever so slightly. “Who…who wrote it?”

“What?” 

She turned her body to face him, “Whose theory was it?” She asked, “Who theorized the idea about being able to pick up on magic?” 

For a moment, he stood there and stared at her. She wondered how he had not been corrupted by the people that were betting on how long it would take her to lose her sanity by sitting on a chair. For a moment, she imagined they were very similar. Questionable pasts, a desire for friends and an unhealthy obsession with Percy Jackson. People didn’t come close to her because of the fame bubble that she despised while people were afraid of him. 

She wondered if people would be afraid of her now. Or had they been afraid all along and she had miscalculated the reason for their distance?  _ Should _ they be afraid of her?

“I—I don’t remember the name.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. 

_ He’s lying. _

That much was obvious. Something burned up in her, flaring from her stomach to her lungs, and she didn’t remember making the conscious decision to grab him, but when the red in her eyes cleared, she found her hand gripping his arm so tightly, the muscles in her forearms were tensed, “Liar.”

“Pers—!”

She turned her hand so that her nails were cutting into his skin. She hadn’t realized how sharp her nails were until she felt skin break under her hand. He gasped, inhaling sharply, looking more shocked than in pain, blood trickling down over his arm and to the floor. Something different spilled, and she breathed it in;

“You…you’re so lonely…so afraid to stay…what is it that keeps you here?” She closed her eyes, breathing heavily, and finding the answer. “Just one thing…they don’t know what happens to you under the full moon…but I do…you want so badly…so badly for someone to want you…you want so badly to belong with someone, with anyone…with the twins…with your aunt…with me…you’ve refused your family…your uncle, your aunt, your cousin, even your mother…but your father, your father haunts you…at night, when you’re desperate to sleep…you grasp at whatever is left of him…you cling to the hope that you will find something of yourself in him, something of him in you. You cling to the hope that you’ll find him, that he’ll find you.”

He gasped, trying to wrench her off him but she only held on tighter. 

“Do you still count the days since he left?” She murmured, feeling him struggling under her. “You count the days between her letters…Andromeda, is it? She’s like the mother you never had and yet…you wait…for the day that her letter does not come…you wait…and you wait…you wonder when your uncle will find out. You wonder when he will storm you and send you away, far enough away that no owl will be able to reach you, reach her.”

He pushed at her, shoving her harshly, but she took him with her, allowing him to stumble forward, and kneel before her, hissing in pain as her nails further embedded themselves in his arm.

“You are being torn apart…so carefully…so slowly…such pain, such anger, buries itself so deeply in your chest you feel as if though your heart beats only that…you want so desperately to be free of this pain…” She leaned in closely, feeling the blood run down her arm now. “I know what else you want…”

His jaw was clenched and he was breathing wildly, glaring, grasping her back just as harshly, “Have you eaten or hydrated today or was that simply your first time practicing legilimency because it sure looked like it…” He struggled openly with her arm.

She almost smiled, “Whose theory was it?” It was a punishment, a warning, or perhaps just for fun, but she wanted him to know exactly what she was capable of before he refused to answer her again.

Far away, she felt something change. Above her, a familiar presence moved almost…fearfully, anxiously. She recognized him before her charm went off. 

Perhaps it was the trauma of having his mind invaded or simply the loss of blood but he doubled over, breathing heavily.

She examined him, standing upright. She could not just leave him here, could she? She couldn’t very well drop him in the open water either… 

He coughed and stared up at her, “I fell asleep in that chair once…don’t be afraid, I feel it too….”

He watched her stare at her now bloodied hand, watching his blood run down her fingers before it ran thin and stained her wrist. She felt dizzy, feeling as though the air was buzzing in a way that made it difficult to breathe. It felt like trying to breathe underwater, only, she could breathe underwater. This was different. It felt like she couldn’t breathe.

She hadn’t eaten, nor had she drank any water. That probably didn’t equate to the strange feelings she was having now. There was a searing relief in her head, almost like her mind was coming apart. Like her head was cracking open and the touch of the cool air was painful, but in a way that gave immediate relief, like this was a long time coming. The feeling pulsated through her entire body, and for a moment, she thought she would break into millions of pieces. It felt like she was too big for her body. 

But her charm was going off, a little tug on her fingers. She had tied a red thread to Gary’s finger and instructed him to tug on it when he was up by their meeting spot, by the girls’ lavatory on the second floor. She would feel the tug as something pulling at her fingers. And something was definitely pulling on her and hard.

She bent down to Hades’ level, staring at him for a moment. He really was rather beautiful, even covered in his own blood. He didn’t really fit the role he was given, of the estranged nephew of the aristocratic purebloods with a past that no one spoke of. At first glance, he wasn’t what you thought a wealthy pureblood of a long and well-known line of magical beings ought to look like. Yes, dressed in the right clothing and standing in a certain way could make anyone look the part, but when he stood straight, he stood taller than most people his year and that was intimidating. When he had his hair brushed back neatly, he looked like a prince. Not a king, no, he was simply too youthful. But certainly, he looked to be born of some forgotten royalty, only really noticeable in certain lights. 

He was boyish in the best ways and it was hard to remember, or maybe hard to forget, that he was several years her senior. 

She wondered what he saw in her, what kept him here, with her. She knew boys looked at her more than often, and she was often the subject of many secret admirers. She knew that the way her hair fell in light curls was something that made girls envy her, that the red that her hair complimented their green eyes of jealousy. From the upturned bridge of her nose to the way her eyes were upturned just right, she was pretty. Her lashes were full, her eyes sparkled and her lips were youthful, in the sense that they were alive with color and soft like butter. She was a goddamned ethereal dream, such a dream that when she was spoken of, she was simply the pretty girl, despite being one of the smartest girls, nay, person at this school. She was an amazing dancer and this much was proved. She may not have earned her fame, but she would be known as the best witch of her age, that of the links to counter even Rowena Ravenclaw herself. 

What drew him to her in those first few weeks? They’d met, though not directly, in Ollivander’s. He’d been a tall boy with dark hair, one of the first wizards she’d met. She remembered that day so well, it was etched on the back of her eyelids. Now, she couldn’t stop seeing the scene when she closed her eyes. He hadn’t looked at her twice, having his head stuck in a book. He had an American accent that surprised her and his skin was much more unhealthy looking. He, like her, probably hadn’t had a proper meal all summer. He had wished her good luck; that had been one of the first things she’d heard him say. 

He was Ben back then, just Ben. He’d been sarcastic and moody and had an annoying voice and he popped out of nowhere and he had a weird obsession with his camera. 

She liked Hades better. She liked how their names fit so easily, that one flowed perfectly after the other. She had gotten used to his voice, gotten used to him popping out of nowhere, gotten used to him scaring boys off her so she didn’t have to. She’d even gotten used to him pointing his camera at her, even for the most mundane things. She wondered if he’d ever developed that film. She knew for sure he had that picture of her post-crying over re-reading Luke’s death scene from  _ Percy Jackson _ , glaring at the camera with swollen lips and a flushed face. He’d laughed so hard that day.

The ghost of a smile played on her lips as she remembered the day of the play auditions, a day that felt like a million years ago. The twins had pulled a prank involving the plumbing and the four of them had to escape Filch and Snape. They ran through the water, splashing and laughing until they were well away from the two. He’d walked her to the common room that night at Fred’s request...

He’d told her his mother was dead that night. He’d lied to her that night, the first of many lies. Lies to protect a past he wanted no one to know? Or lies he simply didn’t want her to know the truth of?

She dropped the hand that had reached out to touch his hair and she stood, staring down at his lifeless looking body. She was pretty and boys were idiots, and so she would make them bleed. And she would make liars bleed the lies they fed others. And she’d start with Hades himself. 

The hallways were cold. It was still early September, just passed eleven. She hadn’t expected it to be cold. She didn’t cast a warming spell; she didn’t cast any spell. She headed straight from the Slytherin dungeons up a few flights of stairs and down a few passageways, barely paying any mind to the idea of being caught by Filch. She felt every presence around her and nothing stirred as she marched the halls silently. All was at peace, completely oblivious to the fact that this night would begin the end of an old era. 

Gary was shivering and she had a feeling it wasn’t because of the cool air. His usual lightly tanned face was pale and he was sweating. She was sure he would catch a cold. 

“You did it,” She didn’t ask a question, more so as she was stating a fact. She hoped he had, because she didn’t know what she would do if he hadn’t and he had called her out here for nothing. 

He held his hands out. She forgot about her bloodied hands, which made him flinch noticeably, “I—is th—that blood?!” Even his voice sounded strained, like he was forcing the words out. 

She shook her head, distracted. She pulled her wand out and held her hand out in a claw way, bending her fingers. She pointed her wand at her palm, and a jar formed in it, clear and solid. She held it out for him but he wouldn’t move. 

“Put the frog in the jar, Gary,” She told him, staring at him. He shook as he did what he was told. She topped the jar off with a solid lid of air, allowing for the tiny thing to breathe. “Good.”

“We should go, we might get—wait, where are you going?” She had turned around from him and made her way down the hall. He didn’t hesitate in running after her, like a good servant ought to, following her nervously. “Where are we going?”

“You,” She said, “Are going to bed.”

“Where are going then?” He asked, not seeming relieved that she gave him the rest of the night off. She clenched her jaw but remembered that she had to be patient with him. It was only his first time sneaking out, he’d get used to it.

“Gary,” She turned around, “I’m going to tell you something because we’re friends and friends tell each other secrets…” 

“I…want to be the best. I know I can be the best but Dumbledore…Dumbledore will not allow it, not as headmaster at least. He’s not who he says he is. The Dark Lord is not scared of him, like everyone says. Dumbledore is scared of  _ him _ …because of his power. I think Dumbledore is scared of me too…he sees my power and he’s afraid that I will one day overpower him, too. He knows it and I know it now too…”

“Dumbledore…? What! No way, Dumbledore—Dumbledore is the greatest wizard, that’s what everyone says! Everyone, even my parents say it!” He shook his head vigorously. 

She sighed, “You’re not ready…you’re not ready for the truth…and so  _ you will forget this night. You will forget my words and my tasks and you will wake up in the morning with a fresh mind. You will turn around and go to your dorm and you will not stop until you are in your bed. _ ”

She was wistful as she watched him walk off, mindlessly under her siren’s spell. She wished she was going to bed for the day was starting to wear on her. But, alas, she had more important things to attend to and they were not sleep. 

She turned and headed into the girl’s lavatory. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...Persephone is off her rocks, that's for damn sure. It's pretty obvious now that she's being possessed, but the possession will open certain doors for her that previously haven't been available to her. 
> 
> Some things to keep in mind: a lot of things won't make sense, and things will be very odd, but that's done on purpose because this is told from Persephone's point of view, and things don't make too much sense to her right now. She's also different in her narration; she calls Ben 'Hades' and she's very arrogant, in ways only a young Tom Riddle would be. 
> 
> More to the extent of his manipulations will be revealed slowly, only to the reader, and not much to Persephone. 
> 
> Hope you guys stick around for this story! I enjoyed plotting it out.

**Author's Note:**

> The Italian Wizarding schools is inspired heavily by Highly_Illogical ( https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highly_Illogical/pseuds/Highly_Illogical ). You can check their work out here: ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/9309470 )
> 
> Diana is indeed the half-sister of Fleur and Gabrielle. Her mother is Mrs. Delacour and her father is to remain a mystery. ;)
> 
> Mary and Reginald are characters only present in Deathly Hallows. After some research, I found that Mary MacDonald wasn't mentioned in any of the books as dead and there was no evidence supporting that the character from Deathly Hallows isn't the one present in the Marauder's era. I hope you enjoyed my use of existing characters :)


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